v/ 


[Page  108 


WHY  DON'T  YE  SHOOT?' 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 


AND 


OTHER  STOKIES 


BY    JOHN    FOX,   JK. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

1896 


Copyright,  1895,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rigttta  reserved. 


TO 

MINERVA  CARR 

MY  MOTHER 

AND 

KENTUCKY 

MY    MOTHER- STATE 


M522978 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 1 

A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 91 

THE    LAST    STETSON 179 

HELL    FER    SARTAIN 217 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  '  WHY  DON'T  YE    SHOOT  ?'  " Frontispiece 

DAD Facing  page      70 

SHERD  RAINES,  THE  PREACHER "   "192 

"  '  PRAY  FER  YER  ENEMIES,  ELI  !'  " "    "   202 

OLD  DADDY  MARCUM u    u   206 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE 

OF  the  stories  included  in  this  volume,  "A  Mountain  Europa" 
and  "A  Cumberland  Vendetta"  were  originally  published  in 
the  Century  Magazine.  "  The  Last  Stetson  "  and  "  On  Hell-fer- 
sartain  Creek  "  appeared  in  HARPER'S  WEEKLY. 

The  frontispiece  and  the  illustration  "  Dad  "  were  originally 
published  in  the  Century  Magazine,  and  are  reproduced  in  this 
volume  by  arrangement  with  the  publishers. 


A  MOUNTAIN  EUROPA 


A  MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 


As  Clayton  rose  to  his  feet  in  the  still  air,  the 
tree-tops  began  to  tremble  in  the  gap  below  him,  and 
a  rippling  ran  through  the  leaves  np  the  mountain 
side.  Drawing  off  his  hat  he  stretched  out  his  arms 
to  meet  it,  and  his  eyes  closed  as  the  cool  wind 
struck  his  throat  and  face  and  lifted  the  hair  from 
his  forehead.  About  him  the  mountains  lay  like  a 
tumultuous  sea — the  Jellico  Spur,  stilled  gradually 
on  every  side  into  vague,  purple  shapes  against  the 
broken  rim  of  the  sky,  and  Pine  Mountain  and  the 
Cumberland  Range  racing  in  like  breakers  from  the 
north.  Under  him  lay  Jellico  Valley,  and  just  vis 
ible  in  a  wooded  cove,  whence  Indian  Creek  crept 
into  sight,  was  a  mining-camp — a  cluster  of  white 
cabins — from  which  he  had  climbed  that  afternoon. 
At  that  distance  the  wagon-road  narrowed  to  a  bri 
dle-path,  and  the  figure  moving  slowly  along  it  and 
entering  the  forest  at  the  base  of  the  mountain  was 
shrunk  to  a  toy.  For  a  moment  Clayton  stood  with 
his  face  to  the  west,  drinking  in  the  air;  then  tight 
ening  his  belt,  he  caught  the  pliant  body  of  a  sap 
ling  and  swung  loose  from  the  rock.  As  the  tree 
flew  back,  his  dog  sprang  after  him.  The  descent 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 


was  sharp.  At  times  he  was  forced  to  cling  to  the 
birch-tops  till  they  lay  flat  on  the  mountain-side. 

Breathless,  he  reached  at  last  a  bowlder  from 
which  the  path  was  easy  to  the  valley  below,  and  he 
leaned  quivering  against  the  soft  rug  of  moss  and 
lichens  that  covered  it.  The  shadows  had  crept 
from  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  darkening  the  valley, 
and  lifting  up  the  mountain-side  beneath  him  a  long, 
wavering  line  in  which  met  the  cool,  deep  green  of 
the  shade  and  the  shining  bronze  where  the  sunlight 
still  lay.  Lazily  following  this  line,  his  eye  caught 
two  moving  shadows  that  darted  jagged  shapes  into 
the  sunlight  and  as  quickly  withdrew  them.  As  the 
road  wound  up  towards  him,  two  figures  were  soon 
visible  through  the  undergrowth.  Presently  a  head 
bonneted  in  blue  rose  above  the  bushes,  and  Clay 
ton's  half-shut  eyes  opened  wide  and  were  fixed 
with  a  look  of  amused  expectancy  where  a  turn  of 
the  path  must  bring  rider  and  beast  into  plain  sight. 
Apparently  some  mountain  girl,  wearied  by  the 
climb  or  in  a  spirit  of  fun,  had  mounted  her  cow 
while  driving  it  home;  and  with  a  smile  at  the 
thought  of  the  confusion  he  would  cause  her,  Clay 
ton  stepped  around  the  bowlder  and  waited.  With 
the  slow,  easy  swing  of  climbing  cattle,  the  beast 
brought  its  rider  into  view.  A  bag  of  meal  lay 
across  its  shoulders,  and  behind  this  the  girl — for 
she  was  plainly  young — sat  sidewise,  with  her  bare 
feet  dangling  against  its  flank.  Her  face  was  turned 
towards  the  valley  below,  and  her  loosened  bonnet 
half  disclosed  a  head  of  bright  yellow  hair. 

Catching  sight  of  Clayton,  the  beast  stopped  and 
lifted  its  head,  not  the  meek,  patient  face  he  expect- 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  5 

ed  to  see,  but  a  head  that  was  wrinkled  and  vicious 
— the  head  of  a  bull.  Only  the  sudden  remem 
brance  of  a  dead  mountain  custom  saved  him  from 
utter  amazement.  He  had  heard  that  when  beasts 
of  burden  were  scarce,  cows,  and  especially  bulls, 
were  worked  in  plows  and  ridden  by  the  moun 
taineers,  even  by  the  women.  But  this  had  become 
a  tradition,  the  humor  of  which  greater  prosperity 
and  contact  with  a  new  civilization  had  taught  even 
the  mountain  people  to  appreciate.  The  necessities 
of  this  girl  were  evidently  as  great  as  her  fear  of 
ridicule  seemed  small.  When  the  brute  stopped, 
she  began  striking  him  in  the  flank  with  her  bare 
heel,  without  looking  around,  and  as  he  paid  no  at 
tention  to  such  painless  goading,  she  turned  with 
sudden  impatience  and  lifted  a  switch  above  his 
shoulders.  The  stick  was  arrested  in  mid-air  when 
she  saw  Clayton,  and  then  dropped  harmlessly. 
The  quick  fire  in  her  eyes  died  suddenly  away,  and 
for  a  moment  the  two  looked  at  each  other  with 
mutual  curiosity,  but  only  for  a  moment.  There 
was  something  in  Clayton's  gaze  that  displeased  her. 
Her  face  clouded,  and  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

"G'long,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  But  the  bull 
had  lowered  his  head,  and  was  standing  with  feet 
planted  apart  and  tail  waving  uneasily.  The  girl 
looked  up  in  alarm. 

"  Watch  out  thar  !"  she  called  out,  sharply.  "  Call 
that  dog  off — quick  !" 

Clayton  turned,  but  his  dog  sprang  past  him  and 
began  to  bark.  The  bull,  a  lean,  active,  vicious- 
looking  brute,  answered  with  a  snort. 

"  Call  him  off,  I  tell  ye  !"  cried  the  girl,  angrily, 


6  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

springing  to  the  ground.  "  Git  out  o'  the  way. 
Don't  you  see  he's  a-comin'  at  ye  ?" 

The  dog  leaped  nimbly  into  the  bushes,  and  the 
maddened  bull  was  carried  on  by  his  own  impetus 
towards  Clayton,  who,  with  a  quick  spring,  land 
ed  in  safety  in  a  gulley  below  the  road.  When  he 
picked  himself  up  from  the  uneven  ground  where  he 
had  fallen,  the  beast  had  disappeared  around  the 
bowlder.  The  bag  had  fallen,  and  had  broken  open, 
and  some  of  the  meal  was  spilled  on  the  ground. 
The  girl,  flushed  and  angry,  stood  above  it. 

"  Look  thar,  now,"  she  said.  "  See  whut  you've 
done.  Why'n't  ye  call  that  dog  off  ?" 

"  I  couldn  V  said  Clayton,  politely.  "  He  wouldn't 
come.  I'm  sorry,  very  sorry." 

"  Can't  ye  manage  yer  own  dog  ?"  she  asked,  half 
contemptuously; 

"  Not  always." 

"  Then  ye  oughter  leave  him  to  home,  and  not  let 
him  go  round  a-skeerin'  folks'  beastes."  With  a 
little  gesture  of  indignation  she  stooped  and  began 
scooping  up  the  meal  in  her  hand. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Clayton.  The  girl 
looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  You  go  'way;"  she  said. 

But  Clayton  stayed,  watching  her  helplessly.  He 
wanted  to  carry  the  bag  for  her,  but  she  swung  it  to 
her  shoulder,  and  moved  away.  He  followed  her 
around  the  bowlder,  where  his  late  enemy  was 
browsing  peacefully  on  sassafras-bushes. 

"You  stay  thar  now,"  said  the  girl,  "and  keep 
that  dog  back." 

"  Won't  you  let  me  help  you  get  up  ?"  he  asked. 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  7 

Without  answering,  the  girl  sprang  lightly  to  the 
bull's  back.  Once  only  she  looked  around  at  him. 
He  took  off  his  hat,  and  a  puzzled  expression  came 
into  her  face.  Then,  without  a  word  or  a  nod,  she 
rode  away.  Clayton  watched  the  odd  pair  till  the 
bushes  hid  them. 

"  Europa,  by  Jove  /"  he  exclaimed,  and  he  sat 
down  in  bewilderment. 

She  was  so  very  odd  a  creature,  so  different  from 
the  timid  mountain  women  who  shrank  with  averted 
faces  almost  into  the  bushes  when  he  met  them.  She 
had  looked  him  straight  in  the  face  with  steady  eyes, 
and  had  spoken  as  though  her  sway  over  mountain 
and  road  were  undisputed  and  he  had  been  a  wretched 
trespasser.  She  paid  no  attention  to  his  apolo 
gies,  and  she  scorned  his  offers  of  assistance.  She 
seemed  no  more  angered  by  the  loss  of  the  meal 
than  by  his  incapacity  to  manage  his  dog,  which 
seemed  to  typify  to  her  bis  general  worthlessness. 
He  had  been  bruised  by  his  fall,  and  she  did  not 
even  ask  if  he  were  hurt.  Indeed,  she  seemed  not 
to  care,  and  she  had  ridden  away  from  him  as 
though  he  were  worth  no  more  consideration  than 
the  stone  under  him. 

He  was  amused,  and  a  trifle  irritated.  How  could 
there  be  such  a  curious  growth  in  the  mountains  ?  he 
questioned,  as  he  rose  and  continued  the  descent. 
There  was  an  unusual  grace  about  her,  in  spite  of 
her  masculine  air.  Her  features  were  regular,  the 
nose  straight  and  delicate,  the  mouth  resolute,  the 
brow  broad,  and  the  eyes  intensely  blue,  perhaps 
tender,  when  not  flashing  with  anger,  and  altogether 
without  the  listless  expression  he  had  marked  in 


8  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

other  mountain  women,  and  which,  he  had  noticed, 
deadened  into  pathetic  hopelessness  later  in  life. 
Her  figure  was  erect,  and  her  manner,  despite  its 
roughness,  savored  of  something  high-born.  Where 
could  she  have  got  that  bearing?  She  belonged  to 
a  race  whose  descent,  he  had  heard,  was  unmixed 
English  ;  upon  whose  lips  lingered  words  and  forms 
of  speech  that  Shakespeare  had  heard  and  used. 
Who  could  tell  what  blood  ran  in  her  veins  ? 

Musing,  he  had  come  almost  unconsciously  to  a 
spur  of  the  mountains  under  which  lay  the  little 
mining-camp.  It  was  six  o'clock,  and  the  miners, 
grim  and  black,  each  with  a  pail  in  hand  and  a  little 
oil-lamp  in  his  cap,  were  going  down  from  work. 
A  shower  had  passed  over  the  mountains  above  him, 
and  the  last  sunlight,  coming  through  a  gap  in  the 
west,  struck  the  rising  mist  and  turned  it  to  gold. 
On  a  rock  which  thrust  from  the  mountain  its  gray, 
somber  face,  half  embraced  by  a  white  arm  of  the 
mist,  Clayton  saw  the  figure  of  a  woman.  He  waved 
his  hat,  but  the  figure  stood  motionless,  and  he  turned 
into  the  woods  towards  the  camp. 

It  was  the  girl ;  and  when  Clayton  disappeared  she 
too  turned  and  went  on  her  way.  She  had  stopped 
there  because  she  knew  he  must  pass  a  point  where 
she  might  see  him  again.  She  was  little  less  indiffer 
ent  than  she  seemed  ;  her  motive  was  little  more  than 
curiosity.  She  had  never  seen  that  manner  of  man 
before.  Evidently  he  was  a  "  f urriner  "  from  the 
"  settlemints."  No  man  in  the  mountains  had  a 
smooth,  round  face  like  his,  or  wore  such  a  queer 
hat,  such  a  soft,  white  shirt,  and  no  "  galluses,"  or 
carried  such  a  shiny,  weak-looking  stick,  or  owned  a 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  9 

dog  that  he  couldn't  make  mind  him.  She  was  not 
wholly  contemptuous,  however.  She  had  felt  vague 
ly  the  meaning  of  his  politeness  and  deference.  She 
was  puzzled  and  pleased,  she  scarcely  knew  why. 

"  He  was  mighty  accommodating"  she  thought. 
"  But  whut,"  she  asked  herself,  as  she  rode  slowly 
homeward — "  whut  did  he  take  off  his  hat  f er  ?" 


II 

LIGHTS  twinkled  from  every  cabin  as  Clayton 
passed  through  the  camp.  Outside  the  kitchen 
doors,  miners,  bare  to  the  waist,  were  bathing  their 
blackened  faces  and  bodies,  with  children,  tattered 
and  unclean,  but  healthful,  playing  about  them ; 
within,  women  in  loose  gowns,  with  sleeves  uprolled 
and  with  disordered  hair,  moved  like  phantoms 
through  clouds  of  savory  smoke.  The  commissary 
was  brilliantly  lighted.  At  a  window  close  by  im 
provident  miners  were  drawing  the  wages  of  the 
day,  while  their  wives  waited  in  the  store  with 
baskets  unfilled.  In  front  of  the  commissary  a 
crowd  of  negroes  were  talking,  laughing,  singing, 
and  playing  pranks  like  children.  Here  two,  with 
grinning  faces,  were  squared  off,  not  to  spar,  but  to 
knock  at  each  other's  tattered  hat ;  there  two  more, 
with  legs  and  arms  indistinguishable,  were  wrestling ; 
close  by  was  the  sound  of  a  mouth-harp,  a  circle 
of  interested  spectators,  and,  within,  two  dancers 
pitted  against  each  other,  and  shuffling  with  a  zest 
that  labor  seemed  never  to  affect. 

Immediately    after    supper   Clayton  went   to   his 


10  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

room,  lighted  his  lamp,  and  sat  down  to  a  map  he 
was  tracing.  His  room  was  next  the  ground,  and  a 
path  ran  near  the  open  window.  As  he  worked, 
every  passer-by  would  look  curiously  within.  On 
the  wall  above  his  head  a  pair  of  fencing-foils  were 
crossed  under  masks.  Below  these  hung  two  pistols, 
such  as  courteous  Claude  Duval  used  for  side-arms. 
Opposite  were  two  old  rifles,  and  beneath  them  two 
stone  beer-mugs,  and  a  German  student's  pipe  ab 
surdly  long  and  richly  ornamented.  A  mantel  close 
by  was  filled  with  curiosities,  and  near  it  hung  a 
banjo  unstrung,  a  tennis-racket,  and  a  blazer  of 
startling  colors.  Plainly  they  were  relics  of  German 
student  life,  and  the  odd  contrast  they  made  with  the 
rough  wall  and  ceiling  suggested  a  sharp  change  in 
the  fortunes  of  the  young  worker  beneath.  Scarcely 
six  months  since  he  had  been  suddenly  summoned 
home  from  Germany.  The  reason  was  vague,  but 
having  read  of  recent  American  failures,  notably  in 
Wall  Street,  he  knew  what  had  happened.  Reach 
ing  New  York,  he  was  startled  by  the  fear  that  his 
mother  was  dead,  so  gloomy  was  the  house,  so  sub 
dued  his  sister's  greeting,  and  so  worn  and  sad  his 
father's  face.  The  trouble,  however,  was  what  he 
had  guessed,  and  he  had  accepted  it  with  quiet  res 
ignation.  The  financial  wreck  seemed  complete ; 
but  one  resource,  however,  was  left.  Just  after  the 
war  Clayton's  father  had  purchased  mineral  lands  in 
the  South,  and  it  was  with  the  idea  of  developing  these 
that  he  had  encouraged  the  marked  scientific  tastes 
of  his  son,  and  had  sent  him  to  a  German  university. 
In  view  of  his  own  disaster,  and  the  fact  that  a 
financial  tide  was  swelling  southward,  his  fore- 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  11 

thought  seemed  an  inspiration.  To  this  resource 
Clayton  turned  eagerly  ;  and  after  a  few  weeks  at 
home,  which  were  made  intolerable  by  straitened 
circumstances,  and  the  fancied  coldness  of  friend 
and  acquaintance,  he  was  hard  at  work  in  the  heart 
of  the  Kentucky  mountains. 

The  transition  from  the  careless  life  of  a  student 
was  swift  and  bitter ;  it  was  like  beginning  a  new 
life  with  a  new  identity,  though  Clayton  suffered 
less  than  he  anticipated.  He  had  become  interested 
from  the  first.  There  was  nothing  in  the  pretty 
glen,  when  he  came,  but  a  mountaineer's  cabin  and 
a  few  gnarled  old  apple-trees,  the  roots  of  which 
checked  the  musical  flow  of  a  little  stream.  Then 
the  air  was  filled  with  the  tense  ring  of  hammer  and 
saw,  the  mellow  echoes  of  axes,  and  the  shouts  of 
ox-drivers  from  the  forests,  indignant  groans  from 
the  mountains,  and  a  little  town  sprang  up  before 
his1  eyes,  and  cars  of  shining  coal  wound  slowly 
about  the  mountain-side. 

Activity  like  this  stirred  his  blood.  Busy  from 
dawn  to  dark,  he  had  no  time  to  grow  miserable. 
His  work  was  hard,  to  be  sure,  but  it  made  rest  and 
sleep  a  luxury,  and  it  had  the  new  zest  of  indepen 
dence  ;  he  even  began  to  take  in  it  no  little  pride 
when  he  found  himself  an  essential  part  of  the  quick 
growth  going  on.  When  leisure  came,  he  could  take 
to  woods  filled  with  unknown  birds,  new  forms  of 
insect  life,  and  strange  plants  and  flowers.  With 
every  day,  too,  he  was  more  deeply  stirred  by  the 
changing  beauty  of  the  mountains — hidden  at  dawn 
with  white  mists,  faintly  veiled  through  the  day  with 
an  atmosphere  that  made  him  think  of  Italy,  and  en- 


12  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

riclied  by  sunsets  of  startling  beauty.  But  strongest 
of  all  was  the  interest  he  found  in  the  odd  human 
mixture  about  him — the  simple,  good-natured  dark 
ies  who  slouched  past  him,  magnificent  in  physique 
and  picturesque  with  rags;  occasional  foreigners  just 
from  Castle  Garden,  with  the  hope  of  the  New  World 
still  in  their  faces ;  and  now  and  then  a  gaunt  moun 
taineer  stalking  awkwardly  in  the  rear  of  this  march 
towards  civilization.  Gradually  it  had  dawned  upon 
him  that  this  last,  silent  figure,  traced  through  Vir 
ginia,  was  closely  linked  by  blood  and  speech  with 
the  common  people  of  England,  and,  moulded  per 
haps  by  the  influences  of  feudalism,  was  still  strik 
ingly  unchanged ;  that  now  it  was  the  most  distinc 
tively  national  remnant  on  American  soil,  and 
symbolized  the  development  of  the  continent-,  and 
that  with  it  must  go  the  last  suggestions  of  the  pio 
neers,  with  their  hardy  physiques,  their  speech,  their 
manners  and  customs,  their  simple  architecture  and 
simple  mode  of  life.  It  was  soon  plain  to  him,  too, 
that  a  change  was  being  wrought  at  last — the  change 
of  destruction.  The  older  mountaineers,  whose  bewil 
dered  eyes  watched  the  noisy  signs  of  an  unintelligible 
civilization,  were  passing  away.  Of  the  rest,  some, 
sullen  and  restless,  were  selling  their  homesteads  and 
following  the  spirit  of  their  forefathers  into  a  new 
wilderness ;  others,  leaving  their  small  farms  in  ad 
jacent  valleys  to  go  to  ruin,  were  gaping  idly  about 
the  public  works,  caught  up  only  too  easily  by  the 
vicious  current  of  the  incoming  tide.  In  a  century  the 
mountaineers  must  be  swept  away,  and  their  ignorance 
of  the  tragic  forces  at  work  among  them  gave  them 
an  unconscious  pathos  that  touched  Clayton  deeply. 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  13 

As  he  grew  to  know  them,  their  historical  impor 
tance  yielded  to  a  genuine  interest  in  the  people 
themselves.  They  were  densely  ignorant,  to  be  sure  ; 
but  they  were  natural,  simple,  and  hospitable.  Their 
sense  of  personal  worth  was  high,  and  their  democ 
racy — or  aristocracy,  since  there  was  no  distinction 
of  caste — absolute.  For  generations  son  had  lived 
like  father  in  an  isolation  hardly  credible.  No  influ 
ence  save  such  as  shook  the  nation  ever  reached 
them.  The  Mexican  war,  slavery,  and  national  poli 
tics  of  the  first  half-century  were  still  present  issues, 
and  each  old  man  would  give  his  rigid,  individual 
opinion  sometimes  with  surprising  humor  and  force. 
He  went  much  among  them,  and  the  rugged  old 
couples  whom  he  found  in  the  cabin  porches — so 
much  alike  at  first — quickly  became  distinct  with  a 
quaint  individuality.  Among  young  or  old,  how 
ever,  he  had  found  nothing  like  the  half-wild  young 
creature  he  had  met  on  the  mountain  that  day.  In 
her  a  type  had  crossed  his  path — had  driven  him 
from  it,  in  truth — that  seemed  unique  and  inexplica 
ble.  He  had  been  little  more  than  amused  at  first, 
but  a  keen  interest  had  been  growing  in  him  with 
every  thought  of  her.  There  was  an  indefinable 
charm  about  the  girl.  She  gave  a  new  and  sudden 
zest  to  his  interest  in  mountain  life ;  and  while  he 
worked,  the  incidents  of  the  encounter  on  the  moun 
tain  came  minutely  back  to  him  till  he  saw  her  again 
as  she  rode  away,  her  supple  figure  swaying  with  ev 
ery  movement  of  the  beast,  and  dappled  with  quiver 
ing  circles  of  sunlight  from  the  bushes,  her  face 
calm,  but  still  flushed  with  color,  and  her  yellow  hair 
shaking  about  her  shoulders — not  lustreless  and  flax- 


14  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

en,  as  hair  was  in  the  mountains,  he  remembered, 
but  catching  the  sunlight  like  gold. 

Almost  unconsciously  he  laid  aside  his  pencil  and 
leaned  from  his  window  to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  dark 
mountain  he  had  climbed  that  day.  The  rude  melo 
dy  of  an  old-fashioned  hymn  was  coming  up  the 
glen,  and  he  recognized  the  thin,  quavering  voice  of 
an  old  mountaineer,  Uncle  Tommy  Brooks,  as  he 
was  familiarly  known,  whose  cabin  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  camp,  a  pathetic  contrast  to  the  smart 
new  houses  that  had  sprung  up  around  it.  The  old 
man  had  lived  in  the  glen  for  nearly  three-quarters 
of  a  century,  and  he,  if  any  one,  must  know  the  girl. 
With  the  thought,  Clayton  sprang  through  the  win 
dow,  and  a  few  minutes  later  was  at  the  cabin.  The 
old  man  sat  whittling  in  the  porch,  joining  in  the 
song  with  which  his  wife  was  crooning  a  child  to 
sleep  within.  Clayton  easily  identified  Europa,  as 
he  had  christened  her ;  the  simple  mention  of  her 
means  of  transport  was  sufficient. 

"  Ridin'  a  bull,  was  she  ?"  repeated  the  old  man, 
laughing.  "  Well,  that  was  Easter  Hicks,  old  Bill 
Hicks's  gal.  She's  a  sort  o'  connection  o'  mine.  Me 
and  Bill  merried  cousins.  She's  a  cur'us  critter  as 
ever  I  seed.  She  don'  seem  to  take  atter  her  dad 
nur  her  mammy  nother,  though  Bill  allus  had  a  quar 
streak  in  'im,  and  was  the  wust  man  I  ever  seed 
when  he  was  disguised  by  licker.  Whar  does  she 
live  ?  Oh,  up  thar,  right  on  top  o'  Wolf  Mountain, 
with  her  mammy." 

"Alone?" 

"  Yes ;  fer  her  dad  ain't  thar.  No ;  V  he  ain't 
dead.  I'll  tell  ye  " — the  old  man  lowered  his  tone — 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  15 

"  thar  used  to  be  a  big  lot  o'  moonsliinin'  done  in 
these  parts,  V  a  raider  come  hyeh  to  see  'bout  it. 
Well,  one  mornin'  he  was  found  layin'  in  the  road 
with  a  bullet  through  him.  Bill  was  s'picioned. 
Now,  I  ain't  a-sayin'  as  Bill  done  it,  but  when  a 
whole  lot  more  rode  up  thar  on  hosses  one  night, 
they  didn't  find  Bill.  They  hain't  found  him  yit, 
fer  he's  out  in  the  mountains  somewhar  a-hidin'." 

"  How  do  they  get  along  without  him  ?"  asked 
Clayton. 

"  Why,  the  gal  does  the  work.  She  ploughs  with 
that  bull,  and  does  the  plantin'  herself.  She  kin  chop 
wood  like  a  man.  'N'  as  fer  shootin',  well,  when 
huntin's  good  'n'  thar's  shootin'  -  matches  round 
about,  she  don't  have  to  buy  much  meat." 

"  It's  a  wonder  some  young  fellow  hasn't  married 
her.  I  suppose,  though,  she's  too  young." 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  Thar's  been  many  a  live 
ly  young  feller  that's  tried  it,  but  she's  hard  to  ketch 
as  a  wildcat.  She  won't  hev  nothin'  to  do  with  other 
folks,  'n'  she  nuver  comes  down  hyeh  into  the  valley, 
'cept  to  git  her  corn  groun'  er  to  shoot  a  turkey. 
Sherd  Raines  goes  up  to  see  her,  and  folks  say  he 
air  try  in'  to  git  her  into  the  church.  But  the  gal 
won't  go  nigh  a  meetin' -house.  She  air  a  cur' us 
critter,"  he  concluded  emphatically,  "  shy  as  a  deer 
till  she  air  stirred  up,  and  then  she  air  a  caution ; 
mighty  gentle  sometimes,  and  ag'in  stubborn  as  a 
mule." 

A  shrill  infantile  scream  came  from  within,  and 
the  old  man  paused  a  moment  to  listen. 

"Ye  didn't  know  I  had  a  great-grandchild,  did 
ye  ?  That's  it  a-hollerin'.  Talk  about  Easter  bein' 


16  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

too  young  to  merry  !  Why,  hit's  mother  air  two 
year  younger  'n  Easter.  Jes  come  in  liyeli  a  minit." 
The  old  mountaineer  rose  and  led  the  way  into  the 
cabin.  Clayton  was  embarrassed  at  first.  On  one 
bed  lay  a  rather  comely  young  woman  with  a  child 
by  her  side  ;  on  a  chest  close  by  sat  another  with  her 
lover,  courting  in  the  most  open  and  primitive  man 
ner.  In  the  corner  an  old  grandam  dozed  with  her 
piper  her  withered  face  just  touched  by  the  rim  of 
the  .firelight.  Near  a  rectangular  hole  in  the  wall 
which  served  the  purpose  of  a  window,  stood  a  girl 
whose  face,  silhouetted  against  the  darkness,  had  in 
it  a  curious  mixture  of  childishness  and  maturity. 

"  Whar's  the  baby?"  asked  Uncle  Tommy. 

Somebody  outside  was  admiring  it,  and  the  young 
girl  leaned  through  the  window  and  lifted  the  infant 
within. 

u  Thar's  a  baby  fer  ye !"  exclaimed  the  old  moun 
taineer,  proudly,  lifting  it  in  the  air  and  turning  its 
face  to  the  light.  But  the  child  was  peevish  and 
fretful,  and  he  handed  it  back  gently.  Clayton  was 
wondering  which  was  the  mother,  when,  to  his  amaze 
ment,  almost  to  his  confusion,  the  girl  lifted  the  child 
calmly  to  her  own  breast.  The  child  was  the  mother 
of  the  child.  She  was  barely  fifteen,  with  the  face  of 
a  girl  of  twelve,  and  her  motherly  manner  had  struck 
him  as  an  odd  contrast.  He  felt  a  thrill  of  pity  for 
the  young  mother  as  he  called  to  mind  the  aged 
young  wives  he  had  seen  who  were  haggard  and  care 
worn  at  thirty,  and  who  still  managed  to  live  to  an 
old  age.  He  was  indefinably  glad  that  Easter  had 
escaped  such  a  fate.  When  he  left  the  cabin,  the  old 
man  called  after  him  from  the  door : 


A    MOUNTAIN"    EUROPA  17 

"Thar's  goin'  to  be  a  shootin'- match  among  the 
boys  to-morrer,  V  I  jedge  that  Easter  '11  be  on  hand. 
She  al'ays  is." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  said  Clayton.  "  Well,  I'll  look  out 
for  it." 

The  old  mountaineer  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Ye  hain't  thinkin'  about  takin'  a  wife,  air  ye  ?" 

"  No,  no !" 

"  Well,  ef  ye  air,"  said  the  old  man,  slowly,  "  I'm 
a-thinkin'  yu'll  hev  to  buck  up  ag'in'  Sherd  Raines, 
fer  ef  I  hain't  like  a  goose  a-pickin'  o'  grass  by  moon 
shine,  Sherd  air  atter  the  gal  fer  hisself,  not  fer  the 
Lord.  Yes,"  he  continued,  after  a  short,  dry  laugh  ; 
"  V  mebbe  ye'll  hev  to  keep  an  eye  open  fer  old  Bill. 
They  say  that  he  air  mighty  low  down,  V  kind  o' 
sorry  V  skeery,  fer  I  reckon  Sherd  Raines  hev  told 
him  he  hev  got  to  pay  the  penalty  fer  takin'  a  human 
life ;  but  I  wouldn't  sot  much  on  his  bein'  sorry  ef 
he  was  mad  at  me  and  had  licker  in  him.  He  hates 
furriners,  and  he  has  a  crazy  idee  that  they  is  all 
raiders  V  lookin'  fer  him." 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  bother  him,"  said  Clayton,  turn 
ing  away  with  a  laugh.  "  Good-night !"  With  a  lit 
tle  cackle  of  incredulity,  the  old  man  closed  the  door. 
The  camp  had  sunk  now  to  perfect  quiet ;  but  for 
the  faint  notes  of  a  banjo  far  up  the  glen,  not  a 
sound  trembled  on  the  night  air. 

The  rim  of  the  moon  was  just  visible  above  the 
mountain  on  which  Easter — what  a  pretty  name  that 
was  ! — had  flashed  upon  his  vision  with  such  theatric 
effect.  As  its  brilliant  light  came  slowly  down  the 
dark  mountain-side,  the  mists  seemed  to  loosen  their 
white  arms,  and  to  creep  away  like  ghosts  mistaking 


18  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

the  light  for  dawn.  With  the  base  of  the  mountain 
in  dense  shadow,  its  crest,  uplifted  through  the  va 
pors,  seemed  poised  in  the  air  at  a  startling  height. 
Yet  it  was  near  the  crest  that  he  had  met  her.  Clay 
ton  paused  a  moment,  when  he  reached  his  door,  to 
look  again.  Where  in  that  cloud-land  could  she 
live  ? 


Ill 

WHEN  the  great  bell  struck  the  hour  of  the  next 
noon,  mountaineers  with  long  rifles  across  their 
shoulders  were  moving  through  the  camp.  The  glen 
opened  into  a  valley,  which,  blocked  on  the  east  by 
Pine  Mountain,  was  thus  shut  in  on  every  side  by 
wooded  heights.  Here  the  marksmen  gathered.  All 
were  mountaineers,  lank,  bearded  men,  coatless  for 
the  most  part,  and  dressed  in  brown  home-made 
jeans,  slouched,  formless  hats,  and  high,  coarse  boots. 
Sun  and  wind  had  tanned  their  faces  to  sympathy,  in 
color,  with  their  clothes,  which  had  the  dun  look  of 
the  soil.  They  seemed  peculiarly  a  race  of  the  soil, 
to  have  sprung  as  they  were  from  the  earth,  which 
had  left  indelible  stains  upon  them.  All  carried  long 
rifles,  old-fashioned  and  home-made,  some  even  with 
flint-locks.  It  was  Saturday,  and  many  of  their  wives 
had  come  with  them  to  the  camp.  These  stood  near, 
huddled  into  a  listless  group,  with  their  faces  half 
hidden  in  check  bonnets  of  various  colors.  A  bar 
baric  love  of  color  was  apparent  in  bonnet,  shawl,  and 
gown,  and  surprisingly  in  contrast  with  such  crude- 
ness  of  taste  was  a  face  when  fully  seen,  so  modest 
was  it.  The  features  were  always  delicately  wrought, 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  19 

and  softened  sometimes  by  a  look  of  patient  suffer 
ing  almost  into  refinement. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  contestants  were  the  peo 
ple  of  the  camp,  a  few  miners  with  pipes  lounging 
on  the  ground,  and  women  and  girls,  who  returned 
the  furtive  glances  of  the  mountain  women  with 
stares  of  curiosity  and  low  laughter. 

Clayton  had  been  delayed  by  his  work,  and  the 
match  was  already  going  on  when  he  reached  the 
grounds. 

"You've  missed  some  mighty  fine  shootin',"  said 
Uncle  Tommy  Brooks,  who  was  squatted  on  the 
ground  near  the  group  of  marksmen.  "  Sherd's  been 
a-beatin'  ever'body.  I'm  afeard  Easter  hain't  a-com- 
in'.  The  match  is  'most  over  now.  Ef  she'd  been 
here,  I  don't  think  Sherd  would  'a'  got  the  ch'ice 
parts  o'  that  beef  so  easy." 

"  Which  is  he  ?"  asked  Clayton. 

"That  ta.ll  feller  thar  loadin'  his  gun." 

"  What  did  you  say  his  name  was?" 

"  Sherd  Raines,  the  feller  that's  goin'  to  be  our 
circuit-rider." 

He  remembered  the  peculiar  name.  So  this  was 
Easter's  lover.  Clayton  looked  at  the  young  moun 
taineer,  curiously  at  first,  and  then  with  growing  in 
terest.  His  quiet  air  of  authority  among  his  fellows 
was  like  a  birthright ;  it  seemed  assumed  and  accept 
ed  unconsciously.  His  face  was  smooth,  and  he  was 
fuller  in  figure  than  the  rest,  but  still  sinewy  and  lank, 
though  not  awkward ;  his  movements  were  too  quick 
and  decisive  for  that.  With  a  casual  glance  Clayton 
had  wondered  what  secret  influence  could  have  turned 
to  spiritual  things  a  man  so  merely  animal-like  in  face 


20  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

and  physique  ;  but  when  the  mountaineer  thrust  back 
his  hat,  elemental  strength  and  seriousness  were  ap 
parent  in  the  square  brow,  the  steady  eye,  the  poise 
of  the  head,  and  in  lines  around  the  strong  mouth 
and  chin  in  which  the  struggle  for  self-mastery  had 
been  traced. 

As  the  mountaineer  thrust  his  ramrod  back  into 
its  casing,  he  glanced  at  the  woods  behind  Clayton, 
and  said  something  to  his  companions.  They,  too, 
raised  their  eyes,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  old 
mountaineer  plucked  Clayton  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Thar  comes  Easter  now." 

The  girl  had  just  emerged  from  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  and  with  a  rifle  on  one  shoulder  and  a  bullet- 
pouch  and  powder-horn  swung  from  the  other,  was 
slowly  coming  down  the  path. 

"Why,  how  air  ye,  Easter?"  cried  the  old  man, 
heartily.  "  Goin'  to  shoot,  air  ye  ?  I  'lowed  ye 
wouldn't  miss  this.  Ye  air  mighty  late,  though." 

"  Oh,  I  only  wanted  a  turkey,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Well,  I'm  a-comin'  up  to  eat  dinner  with  ye  to- 
morrer,"  he  answered,  with  a  laugh,  "  fer  I  know  ye'll 
git  one.  Y'u  're  on  hand  fer  most  o'  the  matches 
now.  Wild  turkeys  must  be  a-gittin'  skeerce." 

The  girl  smiled,  showing  a  row  of  brilliant  teeth 
between  her  thin,  red  lips,  and,  without  answering, 
moved  towards  the  group  of  mountain  women.  Clay 
ton  had  raised  his  hand  to  his  hat  when  the  old  man 
addressed  her,  but  he  dropped  it  quickly  to  his  side 
in  no  little  embarrassment  when  the  girl  carelessly 
glanced  over  him  with  no  sign  of  recognition.  Her 
rifle  was  an  old  flint-lock  of  light  build,  but  nearly 
six  feet  in  length,  with  a  shade  of  rusty  tin  two  feet 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  21 

long  fastened  to  the  barrel  to  prevent  the  sunlight 
from  affecting  the  marksman's  aim.  She  wore  a 
man's  hat,  which,  with  unintentional  coquetry,  was 
perched  on  one  side  of  her  head.  Her  hair  was 
short,  and  fell  as  it  pleased  about  her  neck.  She 
was  barefooted,  and  apparently  clad  in  a  single  gar 
ment,  a  blue  homespun  gown,  gathered  loosely  at  her 
uncorseted  waist,  and  showing  the  outline  of  the  bust 
and  every  movement  of  the  tall,  supple  form  beneath. 
Her  appearance  had  quickened  the  interest  of  the 
spectators,  and  apparently  was  a  disturbing  influence 
among  the  contestants,  who  were  gathered  together, 
evidently  in  dispute.  From  their  glances  Clayton 
saw  that  Easter  was  the  subject  of  it. 

"  I  guess  they  don't  want  her  to  shoot — them  that 
hain't  won  nothin',"  said  Uncle  Tommy. 

"  She  hev  come  in  late,"  Clayton  heard  one  say, 
"V  she  oughtn'  to  shoot.  Thar  hain't  no  chance 
shootin'  ag'in'  her  noways,  V  I'm  in  favor  o'  barrin' 
her  out." 

"  Oh  no  ;  let  her  shoot " — the  voice  was  Raines's. 
"Thar  hain't  nothin'  but  a  few  turkeys  left,  V  ye'd 
better  bar  out  the  gun  'stid  o'  the  gal,  anyway,  fer 
that  gun  kin  outshoot  anything  in  the  mountains." 

The  girl  had  been  silently  watching  the  group  as 
if  puzzled  ;  and  when  Raines  spoke  her  face  tightened 
with  sudden  decision,  and  she  strode  swiftly  towards 
them  in  time  to  overhear  the  young  mountaineer's 
last  words. 

"  So  hit's  the  gun,  is  hit,  Sherd  Raines  ?"  The 
crowd  turned,  and  Raines  shrank  a  little  as  the  girl 
faced  him  with  flashing  eyes.  "  So  hit's  the  gun,  is 
hit  ?  Hit  is  a  good  gun,  but  ye  ought  to  be  ashamed 


22  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

to  take  all  the  credit  'way  from  me.  But  ef  you  air 
so  sartain  hit's  the  gun,"  she  continued,  "  I'll  shoot 
yourn,  V  y'u  kin  hev  mine  ef  I  don't  beat  ye  with  yer 
own  gun." 

"Good  fer  you  Easter!"  shouted  the  old  moun 
taineer. 

Raines  had  recovered  himself,  and  was  looking  at 
the  girl  seriously.  Several  of  his  companions  urged 
him  aloud  to  accept  the  challenge,  but  he  paid  no  heed 
to  them.  He  seemed  to  be  debating  the  question 
with  himself,  and  a  moment  later  he  said,  quietly  : 

"  'N'  you  kin  hev  mine  ef  I  don't  beat  you." 

This  was  all  he  said,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  girl's  face  ;  and  when,  with  a  defiant  glance,  she 
turned  towards  the  mountain  women,  he  followed  and 
stopped  her. 

"  Easter,"  Clayton  heard  him  say,  in  a  low,  slow 
voice,  "  I  was  tryin'  to  git  ye  a  chance  to  shoot,  fer 
ye  hev  been  winnin'  so  much  that  it's  hard  to  git  up 
a  match  when  ye  air  in  it."  The  hard  look  on  the 
girl's  face  remained  unchanged,  and  the  mountaineer 
continued,  firmly  : 

"  'N'  I  told  the  truth ;  fer  ef  ye  pin  me  down,  I  do 
think  hit  is  the  gun." 

"  Jes  you  wait  'n'  see,"  answered  the  girl,  shortly, 
and  Raines,  after  a  questioning  look,  rejoined  the 
group. 

"  I  won't  take  the  gun  ef  I  win  it,"  he  said  to  them ; 
"  but  she  air  gittin'  too  set  up  'n'  proud,  'n'  I'm  goin' 
to  do  my  best  to  take  her  down  a  bit." 

There  was  nothing  boastful  or  malicious  in  his 
manner  or  speech,  and  nobody  doubted  that  he  would 
win,  for  there  were  few  marksmen  in  the  mountains 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  23 

his  equals,  and  he  would  have  the  advantage  of  using 
his  own  gun. 

"  Look  hyeh,"  said  a  long,  thin  mountaineer,  com 
ing  up  to  the  group,  "  thar  ain't  but  one  turkey  left, 
'n'  I'd  like  to  know  what  we  air  goin'  to  shoot  at 
ef  Sherd  'n'  Easter  gits  a  crack  at  him." 

In  the  interest  of  the  match  no  one  had  thought 
of  that,  and  a  moment  of  debate  followed,  which 
Clayton  ended  by  stepping  forward. 

"  I'll  furnish  a  turkey  for  the  rest  of  you,"  he  said. 

The  girl  turned  when  he  spoke  and  gave  him  a 
quick  glance,  but  averted  her  eyes  instantly. 

Clayton's  offer  was  accepted,  and  the  preliminary 
trial  to  decide  who  should  shoot  first  at  the  turkey 
was  begun.  Every  detail  was  watched  with  increas 
ing  interest.  A  piece  of  white  paper  marked  with  two 
concentric  circles  was  placed  sixty  yards  away,  and 
Raines  won  with  a  bullet  in  the  inner  circle.  The 
girl  had  missed  both,  and  the  mountaineer  offered 
her  two  more  shots  to  accustom  herself  to  the  gun. 
She  accepted,  and  smiled  a  little  triumphantly  as  she 
touched  the  outer  circle  with  one  bullet  and  placed 
the  other  almost  in  the  centre.  It  was  plain  that  the 
two  were  evenly  matched,  and  several  shouts  of  ap 
proval  came  from  the  crowd.  The  turkey  was  hob 
bled  to  a  stake  at  the  same  distance,  and  both  were 
to  fire  at  its  head,  with  the  privilege  of  shooting  at 
fifty  yards  if  no  rest  were  taken. 

Raines  shot  first  without  rest,  and,  as  he  missed, 
the  girl  followed  his  example.  The  turkey  dozed  on 
in  the  sunlight,  undisturbed  by  either.  The  moun 
taineer  was  vexed.  With  his  powerful  face  set  de 
terminedly,  he  lay  down  flat  on  the  ground,  and,  rest- 


24  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

ing  liis  rifle  over  a  small  log,  took  an  inordinately 
long  and  careful  aim.  The  rifle  cracked,  the  turkey 
bobbed  its  head  unhurt,  and  the  marksman  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  chagrin. 
As  he  loaded  the  gun  and  gravely  handed  it  to  the 
girl,  the  excitement  grew  intense.  The  crowd  pressed 
close.  The  stolid  faces  of  the  mountaineer  women, 
thrust  from  their  bonnets,  became  almost  eager  with 
interest.  Raines,  quiet  and  composed  as  he  was, 
looked  anxious.  All  eyes  followed  every  movement 
of  the  girl  as  she  coolly  stretched  her  long,  active 
figure  on  the  ground,  drew  her  dress  close  about  it, 
and,  throwing  her  yellow  hair  over  her  face  to  shade 
her  eyes  from  the  slanting  sunlight,  placed  her  cheek 
against  the  stock  of  the  gun.  A  long  suspense  fol 
lowed.  A  hush  almost  of  solemnity  fell  upon  the 
crowd. 

"  Why  don't  the  gal  shoot  ?"  asked  a  voice,  im 
patiently. 

Clayton  saw  what  the  matter  was,  and,  stepping 
towards  her,  said  quietly,  "  You  forgot  to  set  the 
trigger." 

The  girl's  face  colored.  Again  her  eye  glanced 
along  the  barrel,  a  puff  of  smoke  flew  from  the  gun, 
and  a  shout  came  from  every  pair  of  lips  as  the 
turkey  leaped  into  the  air  and  fell,  beating  the 
ground  with  its  wings.  In  an  instant  a  young 
mountaineer  had  rushed  forward  and  seized  it,  and, 
after  a  glance,  dropped  it  with  a  yell  of  triumph. 

"  Shot  plum'  through  the  eyes !"  he  shouted. 
"  Shot  plum'  through  the  eyes  !" 

The  girl  arose,  and  handed  the  gun  back  to 
Raines. 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  25 

"  Keep  hit,"  he  said,  steadily.     "  Hit's  yourn." 
"  I   don't   want  the  gun,"  she   said,  "  but   I  did 
want  that  turkey — 'n'  " — a  little  tauntingly — "  I  did 
want  to  beat  you,  Sherd  Raines." 

The  mountaineer's  face  flushed  and  darkened,  but 
he  said  nothing.  He  took  no  part  in  the  shooting 
that  followed,  and  when,  after  the  match  was  over, 
the  girl,  with  her  rifle  on  one  shoulder  and  the  tur 
key  over  the  other,  turned  up  the  mountain  path, 
Clayton  saw  him  follow  her. 


IV 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  Clayton,  rifle  in  hand,  took 
the  same  path.  It  was  late  in  May.  The  leafage 
was  luxuriant,  and  the  mountains,  wooded  to  the 
tops,  seemed  overspread  with  great,  shaggy  rugs  of 
green.  The  woods  were  resonant  with  song-birds, 
and  the  dew  dripped  and  sparkled  wherever  a  shaft 
of  sunlight  pierced  the  thick  leaves.  Late  violets 
hid  shyly  under  canopies  of  May-apple  ;  bunches  of 
blue  and  of  white  anemone  nodded  from  under  fallen 
trees,  and  water  ran  like  hidden  music  everywhere. 
Slowly  the  valley  and  the  sound  of  its  life — the  low 
ing  of  cattle,  the  clatter  at  the  mines,  the  songs  of 
the  negroes  at  work — sank  beneath  him.  The  chorus 
of  birds  dwindled  until  only  the  cool,  flute-like  notes 
of  a  wood-thrush  rose  faintly  from  below.  Up  he 
went,  winding  around  great  oaks,  fallen  trunks,  loose 
bowlders,  and  threatening  cliffs  until  light  glimmered 
whitely  between  the  boles  of  the  trees.  From  a  gap 
where  he  paused  to  rest,  a  "  fire-scald  "  was  visible 


26  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

close  to  the  crest  of  the  adjoining  mountain.  It  was 
filled  with  the  charred,  ghost -like  trunks  of  trees 
that  had  been  burned  standing.  Easter's  home  must 
be  near  that,  Clayton  thought,  and  he  turned  tow 
ards  it  by  a  path  that  ran  along  the  top  of  the 
mountain.  After  a  few  hundred  yards  the  path 
swerved  sharply  through  a  dense  thicket,  and  Clay 
ton  stopped  in  wonder. 

Some  natural  agent  had  hollowed  the  mountain, 
leaving  a  level  plateau  of  several  acres.  The  earth 
had  fallen  away  from  a  great  sombre  cliff  of  solid 
rock,  and  clinging  like  a  swallow's  nest  in  a  cleft  of 
this  was  the  usual  rude  cabin  of  a  mountaineer.  The 
face  of  the  rock  was  dark  with  vines,  and  the  cabin 
was  protected  as  by  a  fortress.  But  one  way  of  ap 
proach  was  possible,  and  that  straight  to  the  porch. 
From  the  cliff  the  vines  had  crept  to  roof  and  chim 
ney,  and  were  waving  their  tendrils  about  a  thin 
blue  spiral  of  smoke.  The  cabin  was  gray  and  tot 
tering  with  age.  Above  the  porch  on  the  branches 
of  an  apple-tree  hung  leaves  that  matched  in  richness 
of  tint  the  thick  moss  on  the  rough  shingles.  Under 
it  an  old  woman  sat  spinning,  and  a  hound  lay  asleep 
at  her  feet.  Easter  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  her 
voice  came  from  below  him  in  a  loud  tone  of  com 
mand  ;  and  presently  she  appeared  from  behind  a 
knoll,  above  which  the  thatched  roof  of  a  stable  was 
visible,  and  slowly  ascended  the  path  to  the  house. 
She  had  evidently  just  finished  work,  for  a  plough 
stood  in  the  last  furrow  of  the  field,  and  the  fra 
grance  of  freshly  turned  earth  was  in  the  air.  On 
the  porch  she  sank  wearily  into  a  low  chair,  and, 
folding  her  hands,  looked  away  to  the  mountains. 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  27 

Clayton  climbed  the  crumbling  fence.  A  dead 
twig  snapped,  and,  startled  by  the  sound,  the  girl 
began  to  rise  ;  but,  giving  him  one  quick,  sharp  look, 
dropped  her  eyes  to  her  hands,  and  remained  mo 
tionless. 

"  Good  -  morning,"  said  Clayton,  lifting  his  hat. 
The  girl  did  not  raise  her  face.  The  wheel  stopped, 
and  the  spinner  turned  her  head. 

"  How  air  ye  ?"  she  said,  with  ready  hospitality. 
"  Come  in  an'  hev  a  cheer." 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  answered,  a  little  embar 
rassed  by  Easter's  odd  behavior.  "  May  I  get  some 
water  ?" 

"  Sartinly,"  said  the  old  woman,  looking  him  over 
curiously.  "  Easter,  go  git  some  fresh." 

The  girl  started  to  rise,  but  Clayton,  picking  up 
the  bucket,  said,  quickly, 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  won't  trouble  you.  I  see  the  spring," 
he  added,  noticing  a  tiny  stream  that  trickled  from 
a  fissure  at  the  base  of  the  cliff. 

"  Who  air  that  feller,  Easter  ?"  the  mother  asked, 
in  a  low  voice,  when  Clayton  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  One  o'  them  f urriners  who  hev  come  into  Injun 
Creek,"  was  the  indifferent  reply. 

"That's  splendid  water,"  said  Clayton,  returning. 
"May  I  give  you  some?"  The  old  woman  shook 
her  head.  Easter's  eyes  were  still  on  the  mountains, 
and  apparently  she  had  not  heard  him. 

"  Hit  air  good  water,"  said  the  mother.  "  That 
spring  never  does  go  dry.  You  better  come  in  and 
rest  a  spell.  I  suppose  ye  air  from  the  mines  ?"  she 
added,  as  she  turned  to  resume  spinning. 

"Yes,"  answered  Clayton.     "There  is  good  hunt- 


28  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

ing  around  here,  isn't  there  ?"  he  went  on,  feeling 
that  some  explanation  was  due  for  his  sudden  arrival 
away  up  in  that  lone  spot. 

There  was  no  answer.  Easter  did  not  look  tow 
ards  him,  and  the  spinning  stopped. 

"  Whut  d'you  say  ?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

Clayton  repeated  his  question. 

"  Thar  used  to  be  prime  huntin'  in  these  parts 
when  my  dad  cleared  off  this  spot  more  'n  fifty  year 
ago,  but  the  varmints  hev  mostly  been  killed  out. 
Bat  Easter  kin  tell  you  better  'n  I  kin,  for  she  does 
all  our  huntin',  'n'  she  kin  outshoot  'mos'  any  man 
in  the  mountains." 

"  Yes ;  I  saw  her  shoot  at  the  match  the  other 
day  down  at  the  mines." 

"  Did  ye  ?" — a  smile  of  pleasure  broke  over  the 
old  woman's  face — "  whar  she  beat  Sherd  Raines? 
Sherd  wanted  to  mortify  her,  but  she  mortified  him, 
I  reckon." 

The  girl  did  not  join  in  her  mother's  laugh,  though 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched  faintly. 

"  I  like  shooting,  myself,"  said  Clayton.  "  I  would 
go  into  a  match,  but  I'm  afraid  I  wouldn't  have 
much  chance." 

"  I  reckon  not,  with  that  short  thing  ?"  said  the 
old  woman,  pointing  at  his  repeating-rifle.  "  Would 
ye  shoot  with  that  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Clayton,  smiling ;  "  it  shoots 
very  well." 

"Howfer?" 

"Oh,  a  long  way." 

A  huge  shadow  swept  over  the  house,  thrown  by 
a  buzzard  sailing  with  magnificent  ease  high  above 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  29 

them.  Thinking  that  he  might  disturb  its  flight, 
Clayton  rose  and  cocked  his  rifle. 

"Ye're  not  going  to  shoot  at  that?"  said  the  old 
woman,  grinning.  The  girl  had  looked  towards  him 
at  last,  with  a  smile  of  faint  derision. 

Clayton  took  aim  quickly  and  fired.  The  huge 
bird  sank  as  though  hit,  curved  downward,  and  with 
one  flap  of  his  great  wings  sailed  on. 

"  Well,  ef  I  didn't  think  ye  had  hit  him  !"  said 
the  old  woman,  in  amazement.  "  You  kin  shoot,  fer 
a  fac'." 

Easter's  attention  was  gained  at  last.  For  the 
first  time  she  looked  straight  at  him,  and  her  little 
smile  of  derision  had  given  way  to  a  look  of  mingled 
curiosity  and  respect. 

"  I  expected  only  to  scare  him,"  said  Clayton. 
"The  gun  will  carry  twice  that  far." 

"  Hit's  jest  as  well  ye  didn't  hit  him,"  said  the 
old  woman.  "  Hit  air  five  dollars  fine  to  kill  a  buz 
zard  around  hyeh.  I'd  never  thought  that  little 
thing  could  shoot." 

"  It  shoots  several  times,"  said  Clayton. 

"Hit  does  whut?" 

"  Like  a  pistol,"  he  explained,  and,  rising,  he  di 
rected  several  shots  in  quick  succession  at  a  dead 
tree  in  the  ploughed  field.  At  each  shot  a  puff  of 
dust  came  almost  from  the  same  spot. 

When  he  turned,  Easter  had  risen  to  her  feet  in 
astonishment,  and  the  mother  was  laughing  long  and 
loudly. 

"  Don't  ye  wish  ye  had  a  gun  like  that,  Easter  ?" 
she  cried. 

Clayton  turned  quickly  to  the  girl,  and  began  ex- 


30  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

plaining  the  mechanism  of  the  gun  to  her,  without 
appearing  to  notice  her  embarrassment,  for  she 
shrank  perceptibly  when  he  spoke  to  her. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  see  your  gun  ?"  he  asked. 

She  brought  out  the  old  flint-lock,  and  handed  it 
to  him  almost  timidly. 

"  This  is  very  interesting,"  he  said.  "  I  never 
saw  one  like  it  before." 

"Thar  hain't  but  one  more  jest  like  that  in  the 
mountains,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  V  Easter's  got 
that.  My  dad  made  'em  both." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  trade  one  for  mine,  if 
you  have  two  2"  said  Clayton  to  the  girl.  "  I'll  give 
you  all  my  cartridges  to  boot." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  mother  with  hesitation. 
Clayton  saw  that  both  wondered  what  he  could 
want  with  the  gun,  and  he  added, 

"  I'd  like  to  have  it  to  take  home  with  me.  It 
would  be  a  great  curiosity." 

"  Well,"  said  the  mother,  "  you  kin  hev  one  ef  ye 
want  hit,  and  think  the  trade's  fa'r. 

Clayton  insisted,  and  the  trade  was  made.  The 
old  woman  resumed  spinning.  The  girl  took  her 
seat  in  the  low  chair,  holding  her  new  treasure  in 
her  lap,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  it,  and  occasionally 
running  one  brown  hand  down  its  shining  barrel. 
Clayton  watched  her.  She  had  given  no  sign  what 
ever  that  she  had  ever  seen  him  before,  and  yet  a 
curious  change  had  come  over  her.  Her  imperious 
manner  had  yielded  to  a  singular  reserve  and  timid 
ity.  The  peculiar  beauty  of  the  girl  struck  him  now 
with  unusual  force.  Her  profile  was  remarkably 
regular  and  delicate ;  her  mouth  small,  resolute,  and 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  31 

sensitive ;  heavy,  dark  lashes  shaded  her  downcast 
eyes ;  and  her  brow  suggested  a  mentality  that  he 
felt  a  strong  desire  to  test.  Her  feet  were  small, 
and  so  were  her  quick,  nervous  hands,  which  were 
still  finely  shaped,  in  spite  of  the  hard  usage  that 
had  left  them  brown  and  callous.  He  wondered  if 
she  was  really  as  lovely  as  she  seemed ;  if  his  stand 
ard  might  not  have  been  affected  by  his  long  stay 
in  the  mountains ;  if  her  picturesque  environment 
might  not  have  influenced  his  judgment.  He  tried 
to  imagine  her  daintily  slippered,  clad  in  white,  with 
her  loose  hair  gathered  in  a  Psyche  knot ;  or  in 
evening  dress,  with  arms  and  throat  bare ;  but  the 
pictures  were  difficult  to  make.  He  liked  her  best 
as  she  was,  in  perfect  physical  sympathy  with  the 
natural  phases  about  her ;  as  much  a  part  of  them  as 
tree,  plant,  or  flower,  embodying  the  freedom,  grace, 
and  beauty  of  nature  as  well  and  as  unconsciously 
as  they.  He  questioned  whether  she  hardly  felt 
herself  to  be  apart  from  them  ;  and,  of  course,  she 
as  little  knew  her  kinship  to  them. 

She  had  lifted  her  eyes  now,  and  had  fixed  them 
with  tender  thoughtfulness  on  the  mountains.  What 
did  she  see  in  the  scene  before  her,  he  wondered : 
the  deep  valley,  brilliant  with  early  sunshine ;  the 
magnificent  sweep  of  wooded  slopes  ;  Pine  Mountain 
and  the  peak -like  Narrows,  where  through  it  the 
river  had  worn  its  patient  way  ;  and  the  Cumber 
land  Range,  lying  like  a  cloud  against  the  horizon, 
and  bluer  and  softer  than  the  sky  above  it.  He 
longed  to  know  what  her  thoughts  were ;  if  in  them 
there  might  be  a  hint  of  what  he  hoped  to  find. 
Probably  she  could  not  tell  them,  should  he  ask  her, 


32  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

so  unconscious  was  she  of  her  mental  life,  whatever 
that  might  be.  Indeed,  she  seemed  scarcely  to  know 
of  her  own  existence  ;  there  was  about  her  a  simplic 
ity  to  which  he  had  felt  himself  rise  only  in  the 
presence  of  the  spirit  about  some  lonely  mountain- 
top  or  in  the  heart  of  deep  woods.  Her  gaze  was 
not  vacant,  not  listless,  but  the  pensive  look  of  a  sen 
sitive  child,  and  Clayton  let  himself  fancy  that  there 
was  in  it  an  unconscious  love  of  the  beauty  before 
her,  and  of  its  spiritual  suggestiveness  a  slumbering 
sense,  perhaps  easily  awakened.  Perhaps  he  might 
awaken  it. 

The  drowsy  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel  ceased 
suddenly,  and  his  dream  was  shattered.  He  won 
dered  how  long  they  had  sat  there  saying  nothing, 
and  how  long  the  silence  might  continue.  Easter, 
he  believed,  would  never  address  him.  Even  the 
temporary  intimacy  that  the  barter  of  the  gun  had 
brought  about  was  gone.  The  girl  seemed  lost  in 
unconsciousness.  The  mother  had  gone  to  her  loom, 
and  was  humming  softly  to  herself  as  she  passed  the 
shuttle  to  and  fro.  Clayton  turned  for  an  instant 
to  watch  her,  and  the  rude  background,  which  he 
had  forgotten,  thrust  every  unwelcome  detail  upon 
his  attention  :  the  old  cabin,  built  of  hewn  logs,  held 
together  by  wooden  pin  and  angur-hole,  and  shingled 
with  rough  boards ;  the  dark,  windowless  room ;  the 
unplastered  walls;  the  beds  with  old-fashioned  high 
posts,  mattresses  of  straw,  and  cords  instead  of  slats ; 
the  home-made  chairs  with  straight  backs,  tipped  with 
carved  knobs  ;  the  mantel  filled  with  utensils  and 
overhung  with  bunches  of  drying  herbs  ;  a  ladder 
with  half  a  dozen  smooth  worn  steps  leading  to  the 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  S3 

loft;  and  a  wide,  deep  fireplace — the  only  suggestion 
of  cheer  and  comfort  in  the  gloomy  interior.  An 
open  porch  connected  the  single  room  with  the 
kitchen.  Here,  too,  were  suggestions  of  daily  duties. 
The  mother's  face  told  a  tale  of  hardship  and  toil, 
and  there  was  the  plough  in  the  furrow,  and  the  girl's 
calloused  hands  folded  in  her  lap.  With  a  thrill  of 
compassion  Clayton  turned  to  her.  What  a  pity  ! 
what  a  pity  !  Just  now  her  face  had  the  peace  of  a 
child's  ;  but  when  aroused,  an  electric  fire  burned 
from  her  calm  eyes  and  showed  the  ardent  tempera 
ment  that  really  lay  beneath.  If  she  were  quick  and 
sympathetic — and  she  must  be,  he  thought  —  who 
could  tell  how  rich  the  development  possible  for 
her? 

"  You  hain't  seen  much  of  this  country,  I  reckon. 
You  hain't  been  here  afore  ?" 

The  mother  had  broken  the  silence  at  last. 

"  No,"  said  Clayton  ;  "  but  I  like  it  very  much." 

"  Do  ye  ?"  she  asked,  in  surprise.  "  WThy,  I  'lowed 
you  folks  from  the  settlemints  thought  hit  was 
mighty  scraggy  down  hyeh." 

"Oh  no.  These  mountains  and  woods  are  beau 
tiful,  and  I  never  saw  lovelier  beech-trees.  The  col 
oring  of  their  trunks  is  so  exquisite,  and  the  shade 
is  so  fine,"  he  concluded,  lamely,  noticing  a  blank, 
look  on  the  old  woman's  face.  To  his  delight  the 
girl,  half  turned  towards  him,  was  listening  with  puz 
zled  interest. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  beeches  is  beauti 
ful  to  me  when  they's  mast  enough  to  feed  the 
hogs." 

Carried  back  to  his  train  of  speculations,  Clayton 


34  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

started  at  this  abrupt  deliverance.  There  was  a  sus 
picion  of  humor  in  the  old  woman's  tone  that  showed 
an  appreciation  of  their  different  standpoints.  It 
was  lost  on  Clayton,  however,  for  his  attention  had 
been  caught  by  the  word  "  mast,"  which,  by  some  ac 
cident,  he  had  never  heard  before. 

"  Mast,"  he  asked,  "  what  is  that  ?" 

The  girl  looked  towards  him  in  amazement,  and 
burst  into  a  low,  suppressed  laugh.  Her  mother  ex 
plained  the  word,  and  all  laughed  heartily. 

Clayton  soon  saw  that  his  confession  of  ignorance 
was  a  lucky  accident.  It  brought  Easter  and  him 
self  nearer  common  ground.  She  felt  that  there  was 
something,  after  all,  that  she  could  teach  him.  She 
had  been  overpowered  by  his  politeness  and  defer 
ence  and  his  unusual  language,  and,  not  knowing 
what  they  meant,  was  overcome  by  a  sense  of  her  in 
feriority.  The  incident  gave  him  the  key  to  his  fut 
ure  conduct.  A  moment  later  she  looked  up  covertly, 
and,  meeting  his  eyes,  laughed  again.  The  ice  was 
broken.  He  began  to  wonder  if  she  really  had  no 
ticed  him  so  little  at  their  first  meeting  as  not  to 
recognize  him,  or  if  her  indifference  or  reserve  had 
prevented  her  from  showing  the  recognition.  He 
pulled  out  his  note-book  and  began  sketching  rapid- 
.ly,  conscious  that  the  girl  was  watching  him.  When 
he  finished,  he  rose,  picking  up  the  old  flint-lock. 

"  Won't  ye  stay  and  hev  some  dinner  ?"  asked  the 
old  woman. 

"  No,  thank  you," 

"  Come  ag'in,"  she  said,  cordially,  adding  the 
mountaineer's  farewell,  "  I  wish  ye  well." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will.     Good-day." 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  35 

As  he  passed  the  girl  lie  paused  a  moment  and 
dropped  the  paper  into  her  lap.  It  was  a  rude 
sketch  of  their  first  meeting,  the  bull  coming  at  him 
like  a  tornado.  The  color  came  to  her  face,  and 
when  Clayton  turned  the  corner  of  the  house  he 
heard  her  laughing. 

"  Whut  you  laughin'  at,  Easter  ?"  asked  the  mother, 
stopping  her  work  and  looking  around. 

For  answer  the  girl  rose  and  walked  into  the  house, 
hiding  the  paper  in  her  bosom.  The  old  woman 
watched  her  narrowly. 

"  I  never  seed  ye  afeard  of  a  man  afore,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  No,  nur  so  tickled  'bout  one,  nother. 
Well,  he  air  as  accommodatin'  a  feller  as  I  ever  sec, 
ef  he  air  a  furriner.  But  he  was  a  fool  to  swop  his 
gun  fer  hern." 


THEREAFTER  Clayton  saw  the  girl  whenever  pos 
sible.  If  she  came  to  the  camp,  he  walked  up  the 
mountain  with  her.  No  idle  day  passed  that  he  did 
not  visit  the  cabin,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  found 
himself  strangely  interested.  Her  beauty  and  fear 
lessness  had  drawn  him  at  first ;  her  indifference  and 
stolidity  had  piqued  him ;  and  now  the  shyness  that 
displaced  these  was  inconsistent  and  puzzling.  This 
he  set  himself  deliberately  at  work  to  remove,  and 
the  conscious  effort  gave  a  peculiar  piquancy  to  their 
intercourse.  He  had  learned  the  secret  of  associa 
tion  with  the  mountaineers — to  be  as  little  unlike  them 
as  possible — and  he  put  the  knowledge  into  practice. 
He  discarded  coat  and  waistcoat,  wore  a  slouched 


36  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

hat,  and  went  unshaven  for  weeks.  He  avoided  all 
conventionalities,  and  was  as  simple  in  manner  and 
speech  as  possible.  Often  when  talking  with  Easter, 
her  face  was  blankly  unresponsive,  and  a  question 
would  sometimes  leave  her  in  confused  silence.  He 
found  it  necessary  to  use  the  simplest  Anglo-Saxon 
words,  and  he  soon  fell  into  many  of  the  quaint  ex 
pressions  of  the  mountaineers  and  their  odd,  slow 
way  of  speech.  This  course  was  effective,  and  in 
time  the  shyness  wore  away  and  left  between  them  a 
comradeship  as  pleasant  as  unique.  Sometimes  they 
took  long  walks  together  on  the  mountains.  This 
was  contrary  to  mountain  etiquette,  but  they  were 
remote  even  from  the  rude  conventionalities  of  the 
life  below  them.  They  even  went  hunting  together, 
and  Easter  had  the  joy  of  a  child  when  she  discovered 
her  superiority  to  Clayton  in  woodcraft  and  in  the 
use  of  a  rifle.  If  he  could  tell  her  the  names  of 
plants  and  flowers  they  found,  and  how  they  were 
akin,  she  could  show  him  where  they  grew.  If  he 
could  teach  her  a  little  more  about  animals  and  their 
habits  than  she  already  knew,  he  had  always  to  fol 
low  her  in  the  search  for  game.  Their  fellowship 
was,  in  consequence,  nevermore  complete  than  when 
they  were  roaming  the  woods.  In  them  Easter  was 
at  home,  and  her  ardent  nature  came  to  the  surface 
like  a  poetic  glow  from  her  buoyant  health  and  beau 
ty.  Then  appeared  all  that  was  wayward  and  elfin- 
like  in  her  character,  and  she  would  be  as  playful, 
wilful,  evanescent  as  a  wood-spirit.  Sometimes,  when 
they  were  separated,  she  would  lead  him  into  a 
ravine  by  imitating  a  squirrel  or  a  wild-turkey,  and, 
as  he  crept  noiselessly  along  with  bated  breath  and 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  37 

eyes  peering  eagerly  through  the  tree -tops  or  the 
underbrush,  she  would  step  like  a  dryad  from  behind 
some  tree  at  his  side,  with  a  ringing  laugh  at  his  dis 
comfiture.  Again,  she  might  startle  him  by  running- 
lightly  along  the  fallen  trunk  of  a  tree  that  lay  across 
a  torrent,  or,  in  a  freak  of  wilfulness,  would  let  her 
self  down  the  bare  face  of  some  steep  cliff.  If  he 
scolded  her,  she  laughed.  If  he  grew  angry,  she 
was  serious  instantly,  and  once  she  fell  to  weeping 
and  fled  home.  He  followed  her,  but  she  barricaded 
herself  in  her  room  in  the  loft,  and  would  not  be 
coaxed  down.  The  next  day  she  had  forgotten  that 
she  was  angry. 

Her  mother  showed  no  surprise  at  any  of  her 
moods.  Easter  was  not  like  other  "  gals,"  she  said  ; 
she  had  always  been  "  quar,"  and  she  reckoned  would 
"allus  be  that  way."  She  objected  in  no  wise  to 
Clayton's  intimacy  with  her.  The  "  furriner,"  she 
told  Raines,  was  the  only  man  who  had  ever  been 
able  to  manage  her,  and  if  she  wanted  Easter  to  do 
anything  "  ag'in'  her  will,  she  went  to  him  fust" — a 
simple  remark  that  threw  the  mountaineer  into  deep 
thoughtfulness.( 

Indeed,  this  sense  of  power  that  Clayton  felt  over 
the  wilful,  passionate  creature  thrilled  him  with 
more  pleasure  than  he  would  have  been  willing  to 
admit ;  at  the  same  time  it  suggested  to  him  a  cer 
tain  responsibility.  Why  not  make  use  of  it,  and  a 
good  use?  The  girl  was  perhaps  deplorably  igno 
rant,  could  do  but  little  more  than  read  and  write ; 
but  she  was  susceptible  of  development,  and  at  times 
apparently  conscious  of  the  need  of  it  and  desirous 
for  it.  Once  he  had  carried  her  a  handful  of  violets, 


38  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

and  thereafter  an  old  pitcher  that  stood  on  a  shelf 
blossomed  every  day  with  wild -flowers.  He  had 
transplanted  a  vine  from  the  woods  and  taught  her 
to  train  it  over  the  porch,  and  the  first  hint  of  ten 
derness  he  found  in  her  nature  was  in  the  care  of 
that  plant.  He  had  taken  her  a  book  full  of  pict 
ures  and  fashion-plates,  and  he  had  noticed  a  quick 
and  ingenious  adoption  of  some  of  its  hints  in  her 
dress. 

One  afternoon,  as  he  lay  on  his  bed  in  a  darkened 
corner  of  his  room,  a  woman's  shadow  passed  across 
the  wall,  returned,  and  a  moment  later  he  saw  East 
er's  face  at  the  window.  He  had  lain  quiet,  and 
watched  her  while  her  wondering  eyes  roved  from 
one  object  to  another,  until  they  were  fastened  with 
a  long,  intent  look  on  a  picture  that  stood  upon  a 
table  near  the  window.  He  stirred,  and  her  face 
melted  away  instantly.  A  few  days  later  he  was  sit 
ting  with  Easter  and  Raines  at  the  cabin.  The  moth 
er  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  porch,  talking  to  a 
neighbor  who  had  stopped  to  rest  on  his  way  across 
the  mountains. 

"  Easter  air  a-gittin'  high  notions,"  she  was  say 
ing,  "  'n'  she  air  a-spendin'  her  savin's,  V  all  mine 
she  kin  git  hold  of,  to  buy  fixin's  at  the  commissary. 
She  must  hev  white  crockery,  'n'  towels,  'n'  new 
fangled  forks,  'n'  sich-like."  A  conscious  flush  came 
into  the  girl's  face,  and  she  rose  hastily  and  went 
into  the  house. 

"I  was  afeard,"  continued  the  mother,  "that  she 
would  hev  her  hair  cut  short,  'n'  be  a-flyin'  with  rib- 
bins,  'n'  spangled  out  like  a  rainbow,  like  old  'Lige 
Hicks's  gal,  ef  I  hadn't  heerd  the  furriner  tell  her 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  39 

it  was  '  beastly.'  Thar  hain't  no  fear  now,  fer  what 
that  furriner  don't  like,  Easter  don't  n  other." 

For  an  instant  the  mountaineer's  eyes  had  flashed 
on  Clayton,  but  when  the  latter,  a  trifle  embarrassed, 
looked  up,  Raines  apparently  had  heard  nothing. 
Easter  did  not  reappear  until  the  mountaineer  was 
gone. 

There  were  other  hopeful  signs.  "Whenever  Clay 
ton  spoke  of  his  friends,  she  always  listened  eager 
ly,  and  asked  innumerable  questions  about  them.  If 
his  attention  was  caught  by  any  queer  custom  or 
phrase  of  the  mountain  dialect,  she  was  quick  to  ask 
in  return  how  he  would  say  the  same  thing,  and  what 
the  custom  was  in  the  "  settlemints."  She  even 
made  feeble  attempts  to  model  her  own  speech  after 
his. 

In  a  conscious  glow  that  he  imagined  was  philan 
thropy,  Clayton  began  his  task  of  elevation.  She 
was  not  so  ignorant  as  he  had  supposed.  Appar 
ently  she  had  been  taught  by  somebody,  but  when 
asked  by  whom,  she  hesitated  answering,  and  he  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  what  she  knew  she  had  puz. 
zled  out  alone.  He  was  astonished  by  her  quick 
ness,  her  docility,  and  the  passionate  energy  with 
which  she  worked.  Her  instant  obedience  to  every 
suggestion,  her  trust  in  every  word  he  uttered,  made 
him  acutely  and  at  times  uncomfortably  conscious 
of  his  responsibility.  At  the  same  time  there  was  in 
the  task  something  of  the  pleasure  that  a  young 
sculptor  feels  when,  for  the  first  time,  the  clay  begins 
to  yield  obedience  to  his  fingers,  and  something  of 
the  delight  that  must  have  thrilled  Pygmalion  when 
he  saw  his  statue  tremulous  with  conscious  life. 


40  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 


VI 

THE  possibility  of  lifting  the  girl  above  her  own 
people,  and  of  creating  a  spirit  of  discontent  that 
might  imbitter  her  whole  life,  had  occurred  to  Clay 
ton  ;  but  at  such  moments  the  figure  of  Raines  came 
into  the  philanthropic  picture  forming  slowly  in  his 
mind,  and  his  conscience  was  quieted.  He  could 
see  them  together ;  the  gradual  change  that  Easter 
would  bring  about  in  him,  the  influence  of  the  two 
on  their  fellows.  The  rnining-camp  grew  into  a  town 
with  a  modest  church  on  the  outskirts,  and  a  cottage 
where  Raines  and  Easter  were  installed.  They  stood 
between  the  old  civilization  and  the  new,  under 
standing  both,  and  protecting  the  native  strength 
of  the  one  from  the  vices  of  the  other,  and  train 
ing  it  after  more  breadth  and  refinement.  But 
Raines  and  Easter  did  not  lend  themselves  to  the 
picture  so  readily,  and  gradually  it  grew  vague  and 
shadowy,  and  the  figure  of  the  mountaineer  was 
blurred. 

Clayton  did  not  bring  harmony  to  the  two.  At 
first  he  saw  nothing  of  the  mountaineer,  and  when 
they  met  at  the  cabin  Raines  remained  only  a  short 
time.  If  Easter  cared  for  him  at  all,  she  did  not 
show  it.  How  he  was  regarded  by  the  mother,  Clay 
ton  had  learned  long  ago,  when,  in  answer  to  one  of 
his  questions,  she  had  said,  with  a  look  at  Easter, 
that  "  Raines  was  the  likeliest  young  feller  in  them 
mountains  "  ;  that  "  he  knew  more  'n  anybody  round 
thar  "  ;  that  "  he  had  spent  a  year  in  the  settlemints, 
was  mighty  religious,  and  would  one  day  be  a  cir- 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  41 

cuit-rider.  Anyhow,"  she  concluded,  "  he  was  a 
mighty  good  friend  o'  theirn." 

But  as  for  Easter,  she  treated  him  with  unvarying 
indifference,  though  Clayton  noticed  she  was  more 
quiet  and  reserved  in  the  mountaineer's  presence  ; 
and,  what  was  unintelligible  to  him,  she  refused  to 
speak  of  her  studies  when  Raines  was  at  the  cabin,  and 
warned  her  mother  with  an  angry  frown  when  the  lat 
ter  began  telling  the  mountaineer  of  "  whut  a  change 
had  come  over  Easter,  and  how  she  reckoned  the  gal 
was  a-gittin'  eddicated  enough  fer  to  teach  anybody 
in  the  mountains,  she  was  a-larnin'  so  much." 

After  that  little  incident,  he  met  Raines  at  the 
cabin  oftener.  The  mountaineer  was  always  taciturn, 
though  he  listened  closely  when  anything  was  said, 
and  even  when  addressed  by  Easter's  mother  his  at 
tention,  Clayton  noticed,  was  fixed  on  Easter  and  him 
self.  He  felt  that  he  was  being  watched,  and  it  ir 
ritated  him.  He  had  tried  to  be  friendly  with  the 
mountaineer,  but  his  advances  were  received  with  a 
reserve  that  was  almost  suspicion.  As  time  went  on, 
the  mountaineer's  visits  increased  in  frequency  and 
in  length,  and  at  last  one  night  he  stayed  so  long 
that,  for  the  first  time,  Clayton  left  him  there. 

Neither  spoke  after  the  young  engineer  was  gone. 
The  mountaineer  sat  looking  closely  at  Easter,  who 
was  listlessly  watching  the  moon  as  it  rose  above  the 
Cumberland  Range  and  brought  into  view  the  waver 
ing  outline  of  Pine  Mountain  and  the  shadowed  val 
ley  below.  It  was  evident  from  his  face  and  his 
eyes,  which  glowed  with  the  suppressed  fire  of  some 
powerful  emotion  within,  that  he  had  remained  for  a 
purpose  ;  and  when  he  rose  and  said,  "  I  reckon  I 


42  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

better  be  a-goin',  Easter,"  his  voice  was  so  unnatural 
that  the  girl  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Hit  air  late,"  she  said,  after  a  slight  pause. 

His  face  flushed,  but  he  set  his  lips  and  caught 
the  back  of  his  chair,  as  though  to  steady  himself. 

"  I  reckon,"  he  said,  with  slow  bitterness,  "  that 
hit  would  'a'  been  early  long  as  the  furriner  was 
hyeh." 

The  girl  was  roused  instantly,  but  she  said  noth 
ing,  and  he  continued,  in  a  determined  tone : 

"  Easter,  thar's  a  good  deal  I've  wanted  to  say  to 
ye  fer  a  long  time,  but  I  hev  kept  a-puttin'  hit  off 
until  I'm  afeared  maybe  hit  air  too  late.  But  I'm 
a-goin'  to  say  hit  now,  and  I  want  ye  to  listen."  He 
cleared  his  throat  huskily.  "  Do  ye  know,  Easter, 
what  folks  in  the  mountains  is  a-sayin'  ?" 

The  girl's  quick  insight  told  her  what  was  coming, 
and  her  face  hardened. 

"  Have  ye  ever  knowcd  me,  Sherd  Raines,  to  keer 
what  folks  in  the  mountains  say?  I  reckon  ye  mean 
as  how  they  air  a-talkin'  about  me  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  mean,"  said  the  mountaineer — 
"you  V  him." 

"  Whut  air  they  a-sayin'  ?"  she  asked,  defiantly. 
Raines  watched  her  narrowly. 

"  They  air  a-sayin'  as  how  he  air  a-comin'  up  here 
mighty  often  ;  as  how  Easter  Hicks,  who  hev  never 
keered  fer  no  man,  air  in  love  with  this  furriner 
from  the  settlemints." 

The  girl  reddened,  in  spite  of  her  assumed  indif 
ference. 

"  They  say,  too,  as  how  he  air  not  in  love  with  her, 
V  that  somebody  oughter  warn  Easter  that  he  air 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  43 

not  a-mcanin'  good  to  her.  You  hev  been  seen 
a-walkin'  in  the  mountains  together." 

"  Who's  seed  me  ?"  she  asked,  with  quick  suspi 
cion.  The  mountaineer  hesitated. 

"  I  hev,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

The  girl's  anger,  which  had  been  kindling  against 
her  gossiping  fellows,  blazed  out  against  Raines. 

"You've  been  watchin'  me,"  she  said,  angrily. 
"  Who  give  ye  the  right  to  do  it  ?  What  call  hev  ye 
to  come  hyar  and  tell  me  whut  folks  is  a-sayin'  ?  Is 
it  any  o'  yd1  business?  I  want  to  tell  ye,  Sherd 
Raines  " — her  utterance  grew  thick — "  that  I  kin  take 
keer  o'  myself ;  that  I  don't  keer  what  folks  say  ;  V 
I  want  ye  to  keep  away  from  me.  'N'  ef  I  sees  ye 
a-hangin'  round  V  a-spyin',  ye'll  be  sorry  fer  it." 
Her  eyes  blazed,  she  had  risen  and  drawn  herself 
straight,  and  her  hands  were  clinched. 

The  mountaineer  stood  motionless.  "  Thar's  an 
other  who's  seed  ye,"  he  said,  quietly — "  up  thar," 
pointing  to  a  wooded  mountain,  the  top  of  which  was 
lost  in  mist.  The  girl's  attitude  changed  instantly 
into  vague  alarm,  and  her  eyes  flashed  upon  Raines 
as  though  they  would  sear  their  way  into  the  mean 
ing  hidden  in  his  quiet  face.  Gradually  his  motive 
seemed  to  become  clear,  and  she  advanced  a  step  tow 
ards  him. 

"  So  you've  found  out  whar  dad  is  a-hidin'  ?"  she 
said,  her  voice  tremulous  with  rage  and  scorn.  "  'N' 
ye  air  mean  and  sorry  enough  to  come  hyeh  V  tell 
me  ye'll  give  him  up  to  the  law  ef  I  don't  knuckle 
down  V  do  what  ye  wants  me  ?" 

She  paused  a  moment.  Was  her  suspicion  cor 
rect?  Why  did  he  not  speak?  She  did  not  really 


44  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

believe  what  she  said.  Could  it  be  true  ?  Her  nos 
trils  quivered ;  she  tried  to  speak  again,  but  her 
voice  was  choked  with  passion.  With  a  sudden 
movement  she  snatched  her  rifle  from  its  place,  and 
the  steel  flashed  in  the  moonlight  and  ceased  in  a 
shining  line  straight  at  the  mountaineer's  breast. 

"  Look  hyeh,  Sherd  Kaines,"  she  said,  in  low,  un 
steady  tones,  "  I  know  you  air  religious,  V  I  know 
as  how,  when  y'u  give  yer  word,  you'll  do  what  you 
say.  Now,  I  want  ye  to  hold  up  yer  right  hand  and 
sw'ar  that  you'll  never  tell  a  livin'  soul  that  you  know 
whar  dad  is  a-hidin'." 

Raines  did  not  turn  his  face,  which  was  as  emotion 
less  as  stone. 

"  Air  ye  goin'  to  sw'ar  ?"  she  asked,  with  fierce 
impatience.  Without  looking  at  her,  he  began  to 
speak — very  slowly  : 

"  Do  ye  think  I'm  fool  enough  to  try  to  gain  yer 
good-will  by  a-tellin'  on  yer  dad  ?  We  were  on  the 
mountains,  him  'n'  me,  'n'  we  seed  ye  V  the  f urriner. 
Yer  dad  thought  hit  was  a  spy,  'n'  he  whipped  up 
his  gun  'n'  would  'a'  shot  him  dead  in  his  tracks  ef  I 
hadn't  hindered  him.  Does  that  look  like  I  wanted 
to  hurt  the  furriner  ?  I  hev  knowed  yer  dad  was  up 
in  the  mountains  all  the  time,  'n'  I  hev  been  a-totin' 
things  fer  him  to  eat.  Does  that  look  like  I  wanted 
to  hand  him  over  to  the  law  ?" 

The  girl  had  let  the  rifle  fall.  Moving  away,  she 
stood  leaning  on  it  in  the  shadow,  looking  down. 

"  You  want  to  know  what  call  I  hev  to  watch  ye, 
'n'  see  that  no  harm  comes  to  ye.  Yer  dad  give  me 
the  right.  You  know  how  he  hates  furriners,  'n? 
whut  he  would  do  ef  he  happened  to  run  across  this 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  45 

furriner  atter  he  has  been  drinkin'.  I'm  a-meddlin' 
because  I  hev  told  him  that  I  am  goin'  to  take  keer 
o'  ye,  V  I  mean  to  do  it — ef  ye  hates  me  fer  it.  I'm 
a-watchin'  ye,  Easter,"  he  continued,  "  V  I  want  ye 
to  know  it.  I  knowed  the  furriner  begun  comin' 
here  'cause  ye  air  not  like  gals  in  the  settlemints. 
Y'u  air  as  cur'us  to  him  as  one  o'  them  bugs  an' 
sich-like  that  he's  always  a-pickin'  up  in  the  woods. 
I  hevn't  said  nuthin'  to  yer  dad,  fer  fear  o'  his 
harmin'  the  furriner  ;  but  I  hev  seed  that  ye  like  him, 
an'  hit's  time  now  fer  me  to  meddle.  Ef  he  was  in 
love  with  ye,  do  ye  think  he  would  marry  ye  ?  I  hev 
been  in  the  settlemints.  Folks  thar  air  not  as  we 
citizens  air.  They  air  bigoted  V  high-heeled,  'n' 
they  look  down  on  us.  I  tell  ye,  too — 'n'  hit  air  fer 
yer  own  good — he  air  in  love  with  somebody  in  the 
settlemints.  I  hev  heerd  it,  'n'  I  hev  seed  him 
a-lookin'  at  a  picter  in  his  room  ez  a  man  don't  look 
at  his  sister.  They  say  hit's  her. 

"  Thar's  one  thing  more,  Easter,"  he  concluded,  as 
he  stepped  from  the  porch.  "  He  is  a-goin'  away.  I 
heard  him  say  it  yestiddy.  What  will  ye  do  when 
he's  gone  ef  ye  lets  yerself  git  to  thinkin'  so  much  of 
him  now  ?  I've  warned  ye  now,  Easter,  fer  yer  own 
good,  though  ye  mought  think  I'm  a-workin'  fer  ray- 
self.  But  I  know  I  hev  done  whut  I  ought.  I've 
warned  ye,  'n'  ye  kin  do  whut  ye  please,  but  I'm 
a-watchin'  ye." 

The  girl  said  nothing,  but  stood  rigid,  with  eyes 
wide  open  and  face  tense,  as  the  mountaineer's  steps 
died  away.  She  was  bewildered  by  the  confused 
emotions  that  swayed  her.  Why  had  she  not  indig- 
nantlv  denied  that  she  was  in  love  with  the  "  fur- 


46  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

riner "  ?  Raines  had  not  hinted  it  as  a  suspicion. 
He  had  spoken  it  outright  as  a  fact,  and  he  must 
have  thought  that  her  silence  confirmed  it.  He  had 
said  that  the  "  furriner  "  cared  nothing  for  her,  and 
had  dared  to  tell  her  that  she  was  in  love  with  him. 
Her  cheeks  began  to  burn.  She  would  call  him 
back  and  tell  him  that  she  cared  no  more  for  the 
"  furriner  "  than  she  did  for  him.  She  started  from 
the  steps,  but  paused,  straining  her  eyes  through  the 
darkness.  It  was  too  late,  and,  with  a  helpless  little 
cry,  she  began  pacing  the  porch.  She  had  scarcely 
heard  what  was  said  after  the  mountaineer's  first  ac 
cusation,  so  completely  had  that  enthralled  her  mind; 
now  fragments  came  back  to  her.  There  was  some 
thing  about  a  picture — ah  !  she  remembered  that  pict 
ure.  Passing  through  the  camp  one  afternoon,  she 
had  glanced  in  at  a  window  and  had  seen  a  rifle  once 
her  own.  Turning  in  rapid  wonder  about  the  room, 
her  eye  lighted  upon  a  picture  on  a  table  near  the 
window.  She  had  felt  the  refined  beauty  of  the  girl, 
and  it  had  impressed  her  with  the  same  timidity 
that  Clayton  had  when  she  first  knew  him.  Fasci 
nated,  she  had  looked  till  a  movement  in  the  room 
made  her  shrink  away.  But  the  face  had  clung  in 
her  memory  ever  since,  and  now  it  came  before  her 
vividly.  Clayton  was  in  love  with  her.  Well,  what 
did  that  matter  to  her  ? 

There  was  more  that  Raines  said.  "  Goin'  away." 
Raines  meant  the  "  furriner,"  of  course.  How  did 
he  know  ?  Why  had  Clayton  not  told  her  ?  She  did 
not  believe  it.  But  why  not?  He  had  once  told  her 
that  he  would  go  away  some  time ;  why  not  now  ? 
But  why — why  did  not  Clayton  tell  her?  Perhaps 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  47 

he  was  going  to  her.  She  almost  stretched  out  her 
hands  in  a  sudden,  fierce  desire  to  clutch  the  round 
throat  and  sink  her  nails  into  the  soft  flesh  that  rose 
before  her  mind.  She  had  forgotten  that  he  had  ever 
told  her  that  he  must  go  away,  so  little  had  it  im 
pressed  her  at  the  time.  She  had  never  thought  of  a 
possible  change  in  their  relations  or  in  their  lives. 
She  tried  to  think  what  her  life  would  be  after  he 
was  gone,  and  she  was  frightened ;  she  could  not 
imagine  her  old  life  resumed.  When  Clayton  came, 
it  was  as  though  she  had  risen  from  sleep  in  a  dream, 
and  had  lived  in  it  thereafter  without  questioning  its 
reality.  Into  his  hands  she  had  delivered  her  life 
and  herself  with  the  undoubting  faith  of  a  child. 
She  had  never  thought  of  their  relations  at  all.  Now 
the  awakening  had  come.  The  dream  was  shattered. 
For  the  first  time  her  eye  was  turned  inward,  where 
a  flood  of  light  brought  into  terrible  distinctness  the 
tumult  that  began  to  rage  so  suddenly  within. 

One  hope  only  flashed  into  her  brain — perhaps 
Raines  was  mistaken.  But  even  then,  if  he  were, 
Clayton  must  go  some  time  ;  he  had  told  her  that. 
On  this  fact  every  thought  became  centred.  It  was 
no  longer  how  he  came,  the  richness  of  the  new  life 
he  had  shown  her,  the  barrenness  of  the  old,  Raines's 
accusation,  the  shame  of  it  —  the  shame  of  being 
pointed  out  and  laughed  at  after  Clayton's  departure  ; 
it  was  no  longer  helpless  wonder  at  the  fierce  emo 
tions  racking  her  for  the  first  time  :  her  whole  being 
was  absorbed  in  the  realization  which  slowly  forced 
itself  into  her  heart  and  brain — some  day  he  must  go 
away  ;  some  day  she  must  lose  him.  She  lifted  her 
hands  to  her  head  in  a  dazed,  ineffectual  way.  The 


48  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

moonlight  grew  faint  before  her  eyes;  mountain, 
sky,  and  mist  were  indistinguishably  blurred ;  and 
the  girl  sank  down  upon  her  trembling  knees,  down 
till  she  lay  crouched  on  the  floor  with  her  tearless 
face  in  her  arms. 

The  moon  rose  high  above  her  and  sank  down 
the  west.  The  shadows  shortened  and  crept  back 
to  the  woods,  night  noises  grew  fainter,  and  the 
mists  floated  up  from  the  valley  and  clung  around 
the  mountain-tops  ;  but  she  stirred  only  when  a  quer 
ulous  voice  came  from  within  the  cabin. 

"Easter,"  it  said, "  ef  Sherd  Raines  air  gone,  y'u 
better  come  in  to  bed.  Y'u've  got  a  lot  o'  work  to 
do  to-morrer." 

The  voice  called  her  to  the  homely  duties  that 
had  once  filled  her  life  and  must  fill  it  again.  It 
was  a  summons  to  begin  anew  a  life  that  was  dead, 
and  the  girl  lifted  her  haggard  face  in  answer  and 
rose  wearily. 

VII 

ON  the  following  Sunday  morning,  when  Clayton 
walked  up  to  the  cabin,  Easter  and  her  mother  were 
seated  in  the  porch.  He  called  to  them  cheerily  as 
he  climbed  over  the  fence,  but  only  the  mother  an 
swered.  Easter  rose  as  he  approached,  and,  with 
out  speaking,  went  within  doors.  He  thought  she 
must  be  ill,  so  thin  and  drawn  was  her  face,  but  her 
mother  said,  carelessly, 

"  Oh,  hit's  only  one  o'  Easter's  spells.  She's  been 
sort  o'  puny  V  triflin'  o'  late,  but  I  reckon  she'll  be 
all  right  ag'in  in  a  day  or  two." 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  49 

As  the  girl  did  not  appear  again,  Clayton  conclud 
ed  that  she  was  lying  down,  and  went  away  without 
seeing  her.  Her  manner  had  seemed  a  little  odd, 
but,  attributing  that  to  illness,  he  thought  nothing 
further  about  it.  To  his  surprise,  the  incident  was 
repeated,  and  thereafter,  to  his  wonder,  the  girl 
seemed  to  avoid  him.  Their  intimacy  was  broken 
sharply  off.  When  Clayton  was  at  the  cabin,  either 
she  did  not  appear  or  else  kept  herself  busied  with 
household  duties.  Their  studies  ceased  abruptly. 
Easter  had  thrown  her  books  into  a  corner,  her 
mother  said,  and  did  nothing  but  mope  all  day  ;  and 
though  she  insisted  that  it  was  only  one  of  the  girl's 
"spells,"  it  was  plain  that  something  was  wrong. 
Easter's  face  remained  thin  and  drawn,  and  acquired 
gradually  a  hard,  dogged,  almost  sullen  look.  She 
spoke  to  Clayton  rarely,  and  then  only  in  monosylla 
bles.  She  never  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  if  his 
gaze  rested  intently  on  her,  as  she  sat  with  eyes  down 
cast  and  hands  folded,  she  seemed  to  know  it  at  once. 
Her  face  would  color  faintly,  her  hands  fold  and  un 
fold  nervously,  and  sometimes  she  would  rise  and  go 
within.  He  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  with 
her  alone.  She  seemed  to  guard  against  that,  and, 
indeed,  Raines's  presence  almost  prevented  it,  for 
the  mountaineer  was  there  always,  and  always  now 
the  last  to  leave.  He  sat  usually  in  the  shadow  of 
the  vine,  and  though  his  face  was  unseen,  Clayton 
could  feel  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  an  intensity 
that  sometimes  made  him  nervous.  The  mountaineer 
had  evidently  begun  to  misinterpret  his  visits  to  the 
cabin.  Clayton  was  regarded  as  a  rival.  In  what 
other  light,  indeed,  could  he  appear  to  Raines? 

4 


50  •     A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

Friendly  calls  between  young  people  of  opposite  sex 
were  rare  in  the  mountains.  When  a  young  man 
visited  a  young  woman,  his  intentions  were  sup 
posed  to  be  serious.  Raines  was  plainly  jealous. 

But  Easter?  What  was  the  reason  for  her  odd 
behavior  ?  Could  she,  too,  have  misconstrued  his 
intentions  as  Raines  had  ?  It  was  impossible.  But 
even  if  she  had,  his  manner  had  in  no  wise  changed. 
Some  one  else  had  aroused  her  suspicions,  and  if 
any  one  it  must  have  been  Raines.  It  was  not  the 
mother,  he  felt  sure. 

For  some  time  Clayton's  mother  and  sister  had 
been  urging  him  to  make  a  visit  home.  He  had 
asked  leave  of  absence,  but  it  wa£  a  busy  time,  and 
he  had  delayed  indefinitely.  In  a  fortnight,  how 
ever,  the  stress  of  work  would  be  over,  and  then  he 
meant  to  leave.  During  that  fortnight  he  was 
strangely  troubled.  He  did  not  leave  the  camp, 
but  his  mind  was  busied  with  thoughts  of  Easter — 
nothing  but  Easter.  Time  and  again  he  had  reviewed 
their  acquaintance  minutely  from  the  beginning,  but 
he  could  find  no  cause  for  the  change  in  her. 
When  his  work  was  done,  he  found  himself  climb 
ing  the  mountain  once  more.  He  meant  to  solve  the 
mystery  if  possible.  He  would  tell  Easter  that  he 
was  going  home.  Surely  she  would  betray  some 
feeling  then. 

At  the  old  fence  which  he  had  climbed  so  often 
he  stopped,  as  was  his  custom,  to  rest  a  moment, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  wild  beauty  before  him — the 
great  valley,  with  mists  floating  from  its  gloomy 
depths  into  the  tremulous  moonlight;  far  through 
the  radiant  space  the  still,  dark  masses  of  the  Cum- 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  51 

berland  lifted  in  majesty  against  the  east ;  and  in 
the  shadow  of  the  great  cliff  the  vague  outlines  of 
the  old  cabin,  as  still  as  the  awful  silence  around  it. 
A  light  was  visible,  but  he  could  hear  no  voices. 
Still,  he  knew  he  would  find  the  occupants  seated 
in  the  porch,  held  by  that  strange  quiet  which  nat 
ure  imposes  on  those  who  dwell  much  alone  with 
her.  He  had  not  been  to  the  cabin  for  several 
weeks,  and  when  he  spoke  Easter  did  not  return 
his  greeting ;  Raines  nodded  almost  surlily,  but  from 
the  mother  came,  as  always,  a  cordial  welcome. 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  ye,"  she  said  ;  "  you 
haven't  been  up  fer  a  long  time." 

"  No,"  answered  Clayton ;  "  I  have  been  very 
busy — getting  ready  to  go  home."  He  had  watched 
Easter  closely  as  he  spoke,  but  the  girl  did  not  lift 
her  face,  and  she  betrayed  no  emotion,  not  even 
surprise  ;  nor  did  Raines.  Only  the  mother  showed 
genuine  regret.  The  girl's  apathy  filled  him  with 
bitter  disappointment.  She  had  relapsed  into  bar 
barism  again.  He  was  a  fool  to  think  that  in  a  few 
months  he  could  counteract  influences  that  had  been 
moulding  her  character  for  a  century.  His  purpose 
had  been  unselfish.  Curiosity,  the  girl's  beauty,  his 
increasing  power  over  her,  had  stimulated  him,  to 
be  sure,  but  he  had  been  conscientious  and  earnest. 
Somehow  he  was  more  than  disappointed ;  he  was 
hurt  deeply,  not  only  that  he  should  have  been  so 
misunderstood,  but  for  the  lack  of  gratitude  in  the  girl. 
He  was  bewildered.  What  could  have  happened? 
Could  Raines  really  have  poisoned  her  mind  against 
him  ?  Would  Easter  so  easily  believe  what  might  have 
been  said  against  him,  and  not  allow  him  a  hearing? 


62  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

"  I've  been  expecting  to  take  a  trip  home  for  sev 
eral  weeks,"  he  found  himself  saying  a  moment  later  ; 
"  I  think  I  shall  go  to-morrow." 

He  hardly  meant  what  he  said  ;  a  momentary  pique 
had  forced  the  words  from  him,  but,  once  spoken, 
he  determined  to  abide  by  them.  Easter  was  stirred 
from  her  lethargy  at  last,  but  Clayton's  attention  was 
drawn  to  Raines's  start  of  surprise,  and  he  did  not 
see  the  girl's  face  agitated  for  an  instant,  nor  her 
hands  nervously  trembling  in  her  lap. 

"  Ter-morrer  !"  cried  the  old  woman.  "  Why,  ye 
'most  take  my  breath  away.  I  declar',  I'm  down 
right  sorry  you're  goin',  I  hev  tuk  sech  a  shine  to 
ye.  I  kind  o'  think  I'll  miss  ye  more'n  Easter." 

Raines's  eyes  turned  to  the  girl,  as  did  Clayton's. 
Not  a  suggestion  of  color  disturbed  the  pallor  of  the 
girl's  face,  once  more  composed,  and  she  said  noth 
ing. 

"  You're  so  jolly  V  lively,"  continued  the  mother, 
"  V  ye  allus  hev  so  much  to  say.  You  air  not  like 
Easter  'n'  Sherd  hyar,  who  talk  'bout  as  much  as  two 
stumps.  I  suppose  I'll  hev  to  sit  up  'n'  talk  to  the 
moon  when  you  air  gone." 

The  mountaineer  rose  abruptly,  and,  though  he 
spoke  quietly,  he  could  hardly  control  himself. 

"  Ez  my  company  seems  to  be  unwelcome  to  ye," 
he  said,  "  I  kin  take  it  away  from  ye,  'n'  I  will." 

Before  the  old  woman  could  recover  herself,  he 
was  gone. 

"  Well,"  she  ejaculated,  "  whut  kin  be  the  matter 
with  Sherd  ?  He  hev  got  mighty  cur'us  hyar  of  late, 
'n'  so  hev  Easter.  All  o'  ye  been  a-settin'  up  hyar 
ez  ef  you  was  at  a  buryin'.  I'm  a-goin'  to  bed. 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  63 

You  V  Easter  kin  set  up  long  as  ye  please.  I  sup 
pose  you  air  comin'  back  ag'in  to  see  us,"  she  said, 
turning  to  Clayton. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  I  may  not ;  but 
I  shaVt  forget  you." 

"  Well,  I  wish  ye  good  luck."  Clayton  shook 
hands  with  her,  and  she  went  within  doors. 

The  girl  had  risen,  too,  with  her  mother,  and  was 
standing  in  the  shadow. 

"  Good-bye,  Easter,"  said  Clayton,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

As  she  turned  he  caught  one  glimpse  of  her  face 
in  the  moonlight,  and  its  whiteness  startled  him. 
Her  hand  was  cold  when  he  took  it,  and  her  voice 
was  scarcely  audible  as  she  faintly  repeated  his  words. 
She  lifted  her  face  as  their  hands  were  unclasped, 
and  her  lips  quivered  mutely  as  if  trying  to  speak ; 
but  he  had  turned  to  go.  For  a  moment  she  watched 
his  darkening  figure,  and  then  with  stifled  breath 
almost  staggered  into  the  cabin. 

The  road  wound  around  the  cliff  and  back  again, 
and  as  Clayton  picked  his  way  along  it  he  was  op 
pressed  by  a  strange  uneasiness.  Easter's  face,  as 
he  last  saw  it,  lay  in  his  mind  like  a  keen  reproach. 
Could  he  have  been  mistaken  ?  Had  he  been  too 
hasty?  He  recalled  the  events  of  the  evening.  He 
began  to  see  that  it  was  significant  that  Raines  had 
shown  no  surprise  when  he  spoke  of  going  home, 
and  yet  had  seemed  almost  startled  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  his  departure.  Perhaps  the  mountaineer 
knew  he  was  going.  It  was  known  at  the  camp. 
If  he  knew,  then  Easter  must  have  known.  Per 
haps  she  had  felt  hurt  because  he  had  not  spoken 


64:  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

to  her  earlier.  What  might  Raines  not  have  told 
her,  and  honestly,  too?  Perhaps  he  was  uncon 
sciously  confirming  all  the  mountaineer  might  have 
said.  He  ought  to  have  spoken  to  her.  Perhaps 
she  could  not  speak  to  him.  He  wheeled  suddenly 
in  the  path  to  return  to  the  cabin,  and  stopped  still. 

Something  was  hurrying  down  through  the  under 
growth  of  the  cliff-side  which  towered  darkly  behind 
him.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  bushes  crackled  as 
though  some  hunted  animal  were  flying  for  life 
through  them,  and  then  through  the  laurel-hedge 
burst  the  figure  of  a  woman,  who  sank  to  the  ground 
in  the  path  before  him.  The  flash  of  yellow  hair 
and  a  white  face  in  the  moonlight  told  him  who  it 
was. 

"  Easter,  Easter  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  sickening  fear. 
"  My  God  !  is  that  you  ?  Why,  what  is  the  matter, 
child  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ?'T 

He  stooped  above  the  sobbing  girl,  and  pulled 
away  her  hands  from  her  face,  tear-stained  and 
broken  with  pain.  The  limit  of  her  self-repression 
was  reached  at  last ;  the  tense  nerves,  strained  too 
much,  had  broken  ;  and  the  passion,  so  long  checked, 
surged  through  her  like  fire.  Ah,  God  !  what  had 
he  done  ?  He  saw  the  truth  at  last.  In  an  impulse 
of  tenderness  he  lifted  the  girl  to  her  feet  and  held 
her,  sobbirig  uncontrollably,  in  his  arms,  with  her 
head  against  his  breast,  and  his  cheek  on  her  hair, 
soothing  her  as  though  she  had  been  a  child. 

Presently  she  felt  a  kiss  on  her  forehead.  She 
looked  up  with  a  sudden  fierce  joy  in  her  eyes,  and 
their  lips  met. 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  55 


VIII 

CLAYTON  shunned  all  self-questioning  after  that 
night.  Stirred  to  the  depths  by  that  embrace  on 
the  mountain-side,  he  gave  himself  wholly  up  to  the 
love  or  infatuation — he  did  not  ask  which — that  en 
thralled  him.  Whatever  it  was,  its  growth  had  been 
subtle  and  swift.  There  was  in  it  the  thrill  that 
might  come  from  taming  some  wild  creature  that 
had  never  known  control,  and  the  gentleness  that  to 
any  generous  spirit  such  power  would  bring.  These, 
with  the  magnetism  of  the  girl's  beauty  and  person 
ality,  and  the  influence  of  her  environment,  he  had 
felt  for  a  long  time  ;  but  now  richer  chords  were  set 
vibrating  in  response  to  her  great  love,  the  struggle 
she  had  against  its  disclosure,  the  appeal  for  tender 
ness  and  protection  in  her  final  defeat.  It  was  ideal, 
he  told  himself,  as  he  sank  into  the  delicious  dream ; 
they  two  alone  with  nature,  above  all  human  life, 
with  its  restraints,  its  hardships,  its  evils,  its  dis 
tress.  For  them  was  the  freedom  of  the  open  sky 
lifting  its  dome  above  the  mountains ;  for  them 
nothing  less  kindly  than  the  sun  shining  its  bene 
diction  ;  for  their  eyes  only  the  changing  beauties 
of  day  and  night ;  for  their  ears  no  sound  harsher 
than  the  dripping  of  dew  or  a  bird-song ;  for  them 
youth,  health,  beauty,  love.  And  it  was  primeval 
love,  the  love  of  the  first  woman  for  the  first  man. 
She  knew  no  convention,  no  prudery,  no  doubt.  Her 
life  was  impulse,  and  her  impulse  was  love.  She 
was  the  teacher  now,  and  he  the  taught ;  and  he 
stood  in  wonder  when  the  plant  he  had  tended 


66  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

flowered  into  such  beauty  in  a  single  night.  Ah, 
the  happy,  happy  days  that  followed  !  The  veil  that 
had  for  a  long  time  been  unfolding  itself  between 
him  and  his  previous  life  seemed  to  have  almost 
fallen,  and  they  were  left  alone  to  their  happiness. 
The  mother  kept  her  own  counsel.  Raines  had  dis 
appeared  as  though  Death  had  claimed  him.  And 
the  dream  lasted  till  a  summons  home  broke  into  it 
as  the  sudden  flaring  up  of  a  candle  will  shatter  a 
reverie  at  twilight. 

IX 

THE  summons  was  from  his  father,  and  was  em 
phatic  ;  and  Clayton  did  not  delay.  The  girl  ac 
cepted  his  departure  with  a  pale  face,  but  with  a 
quiet  submission  that  touched  him.  Of  Raines  he 
had  seen  nothing  and  heard  nothing  since  the  night 
he  had  left  the  cabin  in  anger ;  but  as  he  came  down 
the  mountain  after  bidding  Easter  good-bye,  he  was 
startled  by  the  mountaineer  stepping  from  the  bush 
es  into  the  path. 

"  Ye  air  a-goin'  home,  I  hear,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Clayton  ;  "  at  midnight." 

"  Well,  I'll  walk  down  with  ye  a  piece,  ef  ye  don't 
mind.  Hit's  not  out  o'  my  way." 

As  he  spoke  his  face  was  turned  suddenly  to  the 
moonlight.  The  lines  in  it  had  sunk  deeper,  giving 
it  almost  an  aged  look ;  the  eyes  were  hollow  as  from 
physical  suffering  or  from  fasting.  He  preceded 
Clayton  down  the  path,  with  head  bent,  and  saying 
nothing  till  they  reached  the  spur  of  the  mountain. 
Then  in  the  same  voice  : 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  57 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  ye  awhile,  V  I'd  like  to  hev 
ye  step  inter  my  house.  I  don't  mean  ye  no  harm," 
he  added,  quickly,  "  V  hit  ain't  fer." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Clayton. 

The  mountaineer  turned  into  the  woods  by  a  nar 
row  path,  and  soon  the  outlines  of  a  miserable  lit 
tle  hut  were  visible  through  the  dark  woods.  Raines 
thrust  the  door  open.  The  single  room  was  dark 
except  for  a  few  dull  coals  in  a  gloomy  cavern  which 
formed  the  fireplace, 

"  Sit  down,  ef  ye  kin  find  a  cheer,"  said  Raines, 
"V  I'll  fix  up  the  fire." 

"Do  you  live  here  alone?"  asked  Clayton.  He 
could  hear  the  keen,  smooth  sound  of  the  mountain 
eer's  knife  going  through  wood. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  f er  five  year." 

The  coals  brightened  ;  tiny  flames  shot  from  them  ; 
in  a  moment  the  blaze  caught  the  dry  fagots,  and 
shadows  danced  over  floor,  wall,  and  ceiling,  and  van 
ished  as  the  mountaineer  rose  from  his  knees.  The 
room  was  as  bare  as  the  cell  of  a  monk.  A  rough 
bed  stood  in  one  corner ;  a  few  utensils  hung  near 
the  fireplace,  wherein  were  remnants  of  potatoes 
roasting  in  the  ashes,  and  close  to  the  wooden  shut 
ter  which  served  as  a  window  was  a  board  table.  On 
it  lay  a  large  book — a  Bible — a  pen,  a  bottle  of  ink, 
and  a  piece  of  paper  on  which  were  letters  traced 
with  great  care  and  difficulty.  The  mountaineer 
did  not  sit  down,  but  began  pacing  the  floor  be 
hind  Clayton.  Clayton  moved  his  chair,  and  Raines 
seemed  unconscious  of  his  presence  as  with  eyes 
on  the  floor  he  traversed  the  narrow  width  of  the 
cabin. 


58  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

"Y'u  hevn't  seed  me  up  on  the  mount'in  lately, 
hev  ye  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  reckon  ye  hevn't  missed 
me  much.  Do  ye  know  whut  I've  been  doin'  ?"  he 
said,  with  sudden  vehemence,  stopping  still  and 
resting  his  eyes,  which  glowed  like  an  animal's  from 
the  darkened  end  of  the  cabin,  on  Clayton. 

"I've  been  tryin'  to  keep  from  killin'  ye.  Oh, 
don't  move — don't  fear  now ;  ye  air  as  safe  as  ef 
ye  were  down  in  the  camp.  I  seed  ye  that  night  on 
the  mount'in,"  he  continued,  pacing  rapidly  back  and 
forth.  "  I  was  waitin'  fer  ye.  I  meant  to  tell  ye 
jest  whut  I'm  goin'  to  tell  ye  ter-night ;  V  when 
Easter  come  a-tearin'  through  the  bushes,  V  I  seed 
ye — ye — a-standin'  together" — the  words  seemed  to 
stop  in  his  throat — "  I  knowed  I  was  too  late. 

"  I  sot  thar  fer  a  minute  like  a  rock,  V  when  ye 
two  went  back  up  the  mount'in,  before  I  knowed  it  I 
was  hyar  in  the  house  thar  at  the  fire  mouldin'  a  bul 
let  to  kill  ye  with  as  ye  come  back.  All  to  oncet  I 
heerd  a  voice  plain  as  my  own  is  at  this  minute : 

"  '  Air  you  a-thinkin'  'bout  takin'  the  life  of  a  fel- 
low-creatur,  Sherd  Raines — you  thet  air  tryin'  to  be 
a  servant  o'  the  Lord  ?' 

"  But  I  kept  on  a-mouldin',  V  suddenly  I  seed  ye 
a-layin'  in  the  road  dead,  V  the  heavens  opened,  V 
the  face  o'  the  Lord  was  thar,  'n'  he  raised  his  hand 
to  smite  me  with  the  brand  o'  Cain — 'n'  look  thar !" 

Clayton  had  sat  spellbound  by  the  terrible  earnest 
ness  of  the  man,  and  as  the  mountaineer  swept  his 
dark  hair  back  with  one  hand,  he  rose  in  sudden 
horror.  Across  the  mountaineer's  forehead  ran  a 
crimson  scar  yet  unhealed.  Could  he  have  inflicted 
upon  himself  this  fearful  penance? 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  59 

"  Oh,  it  was  only  the  moulds.  I  seed  it  all  so  plain 
that  I  throwed  up  my  hands,  fergittin'  the  moulds,  V 
the  hot  lead  struck  me  thar ;  but,"  he  continued,  sol 
emnly,  "  I  knowed  the  Lord  hed  tuk  that  way  o'  pun- 
ishin'  me  fer  the  sin  o'  havin'  murder  in  my  mind,  V  I 
fell  on  my  knees  right  thar  a-prayin'  fer  f ergiveness : 
V  since  that  night  I  hev  stayed  away  from  ye  till  the 
Lord  give  me  power  to  stand  ag'in'  the  temptation 
o'  harrain'  ye.  He  hev  showed  me  another  way, 
V  now  I  hev  come  to  ye  as  he  hev  tol'  me.  I 
hevn't  tol'  ye  this  fernothin'.  Y'u  kin  see  now  whut 
I  think  o'  Easter,  ef  I  was  tempted  to  take  the  life  o' 
the  man  who  tuk  her  from  me,  V  I  reckon  ye  will 
say  I've  got  the  right  to  ax  ye  whut  I'm  a-goin'  to. 
I  hev  knowed  the  gal  sence  she  was  a  baby.  We 
was  children  together,  and  thar  hain't  no  use  hidin' 
that  I  never  keered  a  straw  fer  anuther  woman.  She 
used  to  be  mighty  wilful  V  contrary,  but  as  soon  as 
you  come  I  seed  at  oncet  that  a  change  was  comin' 
over  her.  I  mistrusted  ye,  V  I  warned  her  ag'in' 
ye.  But  when  I  1'arned  that  ye  was  a-teachin'  her, 
and  a-doin'  whut  I  had  tried  my  best  to  do  V 
failed,  I  let  things  run  along,  thinkin'  that  mebbe 
ever'thing  would  come  out  right,  after  all.  Mebbe  hit 
air  all  right,  but  I  come  to  ye  now,  V  I  ax  ye  in  the 
name  of  the  livin'  God,  who  is  a-watchin'  you  V  a-guid- 
in'  me,  air  ye  goin'  to  leave  the  po'  gal  to  die  sorrowin' 
fer  ye,  or  do  ye  aim  to  come  back  'n'  marry  her  ?" 

Raines  had  stopped  now  in  the  centre  of  the 
cabin,  and  the  shadows  flickering  slowly  over  him 
gave  an  unearthly  aspect  to  his  tall,  gaunt  figure,  as 
he  stood  with  uplifted  arm,  pale  face,  glowing  eyes, 
and  disordered  hair. 


60  '          A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

"  The  gal  hasn't  got  no  protecter— her  dad,  as  you 
know,  is  a-hidin'  from  jestice  in  the  mount'ins— and 
I'm  a-standin'  in  his  place,  V  I  ax  ye  to  do  only 
whut  you  know  ye  ought." 

There  was  nothing  threatening  in  the  mountain 
eer's  attitude,  nor  dictatorial;  and  Clayton  felt  his 
right  to  say  what  he  had,  in  spite  of  a  natural  im 
pulse  to  resent  such  interference.  Besides,  there 
sprang  up  in  his  heart  a  sudden  great  admiration 
for  this  rough,  uncouth  fellow  who  was  capable  of 
such  unselfishness ;  who,  true  to  the  trust  of  her 
father  and  his  God,  was  putting  aside  the  strong 
est  passion  of  his  life  for  what  he  believed  was 
the  happiness  of  the  woman  who  had  inspired  it. 
He  saw,  too,  that  the  sacrifice  was  made  with  per 
fect  unconsciousness  that  it  was  unusual  or  admi 
rable.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  the  two  men  faced 
each  other. 

"  If  you  had  told  me  this  long  ago,"  said^Clayton, 
"  I  should  have  gone  away  ;  but  you  seemed  distrust 
ful  and  suspicious.  I  did  not  expect  the  present 
state  of  affairs  to  come  about,  but  since  it  has,  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  I  have  never  thought  of  doing  any 
thing  else  than  what  you  have  asked." 

And  he  told  the  truth,  for  he  had  already  asked 
himself  that  question.  Why  should  he  not  marry 
her  ?  He  must  in  all  probability  stay  in  the  moun 
tains  for  years,  and  after  that  time  he  would  not  be 
ashamed  to  take  her  home,  so  strong  was  his  belief 
in  her  quickness  and  adaptability. 

Raines  seemed  scarcely  to  believe  what  he  heard. 
He  had  not  expected  such  ready  acquiescence.  He 
had  almost  begun  to  fear  from  Clayton's  silence  that 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  61 

he  was  going  to  refuse,  and  then — God  knows  what 
he  would  have  done. 

Instantly  he  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  I  hev  done  ye  great  wrong,  V  I  ax  yer  pardin," 
he  said,  huskily.  "  I  want  to  say-that  I  bear  ye  no 
gredge,  V  thet  I  wish  ye  well.  1  hope  ye  won't 
think  hard  on  me,"  he  continued  ;  "  I  hev  had  a  hard 
fight  with  the  devil  as  long  as  I  can  ricolect.  I  hev 
turned  back  time  V  ag'in,  but  thar  hain't  nothin' 
ter  keep  me  from  goin'  straight  ahead  now." 

As  Clayton  left  the  cabin,  the  mountaineer  stopped 
him  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold. 

"Thar's  another  thing  I  reckon  I  ought  to  tell 
ye,"  he  said  ;  "  Easter's  dad  air  powerfully  sot  ag'in' 
ye.  He  thought  ye  was  an  officer  at  fust,  V  hit  was 
hard  to  git  him  out  o'  the  idee  thet  ye  was  spyin' 
fer  him ;  V  when  he  seed  ye  goin'  to  the  house,  he 
got  it  inter  his  head  that  ye  mought  be  meanin' 
harm  to  Easter,  who  air  the  only  thing  alive  thet  he 
keers  fer  much.  He  promised  not  to  tech  ye,  'n'  I 
knowed  he  would  keep  his  word  as  long  as  he  was 
sober.  It  '11  be  all  right  now,  I  reckon,"  he  conclud 
ed,  "  when  I  tell  him  whut  ye  aims  to  do,  though  he 
hev  got  a  spite  ag'in'  all  furriners.  Far' well !  I  wish 
ye  well ;  I  wish  ye  well." 

An  hour  later  Clayton  was  in  Jellico.  It  was 
midnight  when  the  train  came  in,  and  he  went  imme 
diately  to  his  berth.  Striking  the  curtain  accident 
ally,  he  loosed  it  from  its  fastenings,  and,  doubling 
the  pillows,  he  lay  looking  out  on  the  swiftly  pass 
ing  landscape.  The  moon  was  full  and  brilliant,  and 
there  was  a  strange,  keen  pleasure  in  being  whirled 
in  such  comfort  through  the  night.  The  mists  al- 


62  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

most  hid  the  mountains.  They  seemed  very,  very 
far  away.  A  red  star  trembled  in  the  crest  of  Wolf 
Mountain.  Easter's  cabin  must  be  almost  under  that 
star.  He  wondered  if  she  were  asleep.  Perhaps 
she  was  out  on  the  porch,  lonely,  suffering,  and  think 
ing  of  him.  He  felt  her  kiss  and  her  tears  upon  his 
hand.  Did  he  not  love  her  ?  Could  there  be  any 
doubt  about  that  ?  His  thoughts  turned  to  Raines, 
and  he  saw  the  mountaineer  in  his  lonely  cabin,  sit 
ting  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands  in  front  of 
the  dying  fire.  He  closed  his  eyes,  and  another 
picture  rose  before  him — a  scene  at  home.  He  had 
taken  Easter  to  New  York.  How  brilliant  the  light ! 
what  warmth  and  luxury  !  There  stood  his  father, 
there  his  mother.  What  gracious  dignity  they  had ! 
Here  was  his  sister — what  beauty  and  elegance  and 
grace  of  manner  !  But  Easter  !  Wherever  she  was 
placed  the  other  figures  needed  readjustment.  There 
was  something  irritably  incongruous —  Ah  !  now  he 
had  it — his  mind  grew  hazy — he  was  asleep. 


DURING  the  weeks  that  followed,  some  malignant 
spirit  seemed  to  be  torturing  him  with  a  slow  reali 
zation  of  all  he  had  lost ;  taunting  him  with  the  pos 
sibility  of  regaining  it  and  the  certainty  of  losing  it 
forever. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  dock  at  Jersey  City 
the  fresh  sea  wind  had  thrilled  him  like  a  memory, 
and  his  pulses  leaped  instantly  into  sympathy  with 
the  tense  life  that  vibrated  in  the  air.  He  seemed 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  63 

never  to  have  been  away  so  long,  and  never  had 
home  seemed  so  pleasant.  His  sister  had  grown 
more  beautiful ;  his  mother's  quiet,  noble  face  was 
smoother  and  fairer  than  it  had  been  for  years  ;  and 
despite  the  absence  of  his  father,  who  had  been  hast 
ily  summoned  to  England,  there  was  an  air  of  cheer 
fulness  in  the  house  that  was  in  marked  contrast  to 
its  gloom  when  Clayton  was  last  at  home.  He  had 
been  quickened  at  once  into  a  new  appreciation  of 
the  luxury  and  refinement  about  him,  arid  he  soon 
began  to  wonder  how  he  had  inured  himself  to  the 
discomforts  and  crudities  of  his  mountain  life.  Old 
habits  easily  resumed  sway  over  him.  At  the  club 
friend  and  acquaintance  were  so  unfeignedly  glad  to 
see  him  that  he  began  to  suspect  that  his  own  inner 
gloom  had  darkened  their  faces  after  his  father's 
misfortune.  Day  after  day  found  him  in  his  favor 
ite  corner  at  the  club,  watching  the  passing  pageant 
and  listening  eagerly  to  the  conversational  froth  of 
the  town — the  gossip  of  club,  theatre,  and  society. 
His  ascetic  life  in  the  mountains  gave  to  every  pleas 
ure  the  taste  of  inexperience.  His  early  youth  seemed 
renewed,  so  keen  and  fresh  were  his  emotions.  He 
felt,  too,  that  he  was  recovering  a  lost  identity,  and 
still  the  new  one  that  had  grown  around  him  would 
not  loosen  its  hold.  He  had  told  his  family  noth 
ing  of  Easter — why,  he  could  scarcely  have  said — 
and  the  difficulty  of  telling  increased  each  day.  His 
secret  began  to  weigh  heavily  upon  him ;  and  though 
he  determined  to  unburden  himself  on  his  father's 
return,  he  was  troubled  with  a  vague  sense  of  decep 
tion.  When  he  went  to  receptions  with  his  sister, 
this  sense  of  a  double  identity  was  keenly  felt  amid 


64  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

the  lights,  the  music,  the  flowers,  the  flash  of  eyes 
and  white  necks  and  arms,  the  low  voices,  the  polite, 
clear-cut  utterances  of  welcome  and  compliment. 

Several  times  he  had  met  a  face  for  which  he  had 
once  had  a  boyish  infatuation.  Its  image  had  never 
been  supplanted  during  his  student  career,  but  he 
had  turned  from  it  as  from  a  star  when  he  came 
home  and  found  that  his  life  was  to  be  built  with  his 
own  hands.  Now  the  girl  had  grown  to  gracious 
womanhood,  and  when  he  saw  her  he  was  thrilled 
with  the  remembrance  that  she  had  once  favored 
him  above  all  others.  One  night  a  desire  assailed 
him  to  learn  upon  what  footing  he  then  stood.  He 
had  yielded,  and  she  gave  him  a  kindly  welcome. 
They  had  drifted  to  reminiscence,  and  Clayton 
went  home  that  night  troubled  at  heart  and  angry 
that  he  should  be  so  easily  disturbed ;  surprised 
that  the  days  were  passing  so  swiftly,  and  pained 
that  they  were  filled  less  and  less  with  thoughts  of 
Easter.  With  a  pang  of  remorse  and  fear,  he  deter 
mined  to  go  back  to  the  mountains  as  soon  as  his 
father  came  home.  He  knew  the  effect  of  habit.  He 
would  forget  these  pleasures  felt  so  keenly  now,  as 
he  had  once  forgotten  them,  and  he  would  leave  be 
fore  their  hold  upon  him  was  secure. 

Knowing  the  danger  that  beset  him,  Puritan  that 
he  was,  he  had  avoided  it  all  he  could.  He  even 
stopped  his  daily  visits  to  the  club,  and  spent  most 
of  his  time  at  home  with  his  mother  and  sister.  Once 
only,  to  his  bitter  regret,  was  he  induced  to  go  out. 
Wagner's  tidal  wave  had  reached  New  York;  it  was 
the  opening  night  of  the  season,  and  the  opera  was 
one  that  he  had  learned  to  love  in  Germany.  The 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  65 

very  brilliancy  of  the  scene  threw  him  into  gloom,  so 
aloof  did  he  feel  from  it  all — the  great  theatre  aflame 
with  lights,  the  circling  tiers  of  faces,  the  pit  with 
its  hundred  musicians,  their  eyes  on  the  leader,  who 
stood  above  them  with  baton  upraised  and  German 
face  already  aglow. 

}n  his  student  days  he  had  loved  music,  but  he 
had  little  more  than  trifled  with  it ;  now,  strange 
ly  enough,  his  love,  even  his  understanding,  seemed 
to  have  grown  ;  and  when  the  violins  thrilled  all  the 
vast  space  into  life,  he  was  shaken  as  with  a  passion 
newly  born.  All  the  evening  he  sat  riveted.  A  rush 
of  memories  came  upon  him  —  memories  of  his  stu 
dent  life  with  its  dreams  and  ideals  of  culture  and 
scholarship,  which  rose  from  his  past  again  like 
phantoms.  In  the  elevation  of  the  moment  the  triv 
ial  pleasures  that  had  been  tempting  him  became 
mean  and  unworthy.  With  a  pang  of  bitter  regret 
he  saw  himself  as  he  might  have  been,  as  he  yet 
might  be. 

A  few  days  later  his  father  came  home,  and  his 
distress  of  mind  was  complete.  Clayton  need  stay 
in  the  mountains  but  little  longer,  he  said ;  he  was 
fast  making  up  his  losses,  and  he  had  hoped  after 
his  trip  to  England  to  have  Clayton  at  once  in  New 
York ;  but  now  he  had  best  wait  perhaps  another 
year.  Then  had  come  a  struggle  that  racked  heart 
and  brain.  All  he  had  ever  had  was  before  him 
again.  Could  it  be  his  duty  to  shut  himself  from 
this  life  —  his  natural  heritage  —  to  stifle  the  highest 
demands  of  his  nature  ?  Was  he  seriously  in  love 
with  that  mountain  girl  ?  Had  he  indeed  ever  been 
sure  of  himself?  If,  then,  he  did  not  love  her  be- 

5 


66  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

yond  all  question,  would  he  not  wrong  himself,  wrong 
her,  by  marrying  her  ?  Ah,  but  might  he  not  wrong 
her,  wrong  himself — even  more  ?  He  was  bound  to 
her  by  every  tie  that  his  sensitive  honor  recognized 
among  the  duties  of  one  human  being  to  another. 
He  had  sought  her;  he  had  lifted  her  above  her  own 
life.  If  one  human  being  had  ever  put  its  happiness 
in  the  hands  of  another,  that  had  been  done.  If  he 
had  not  deliberately  taught  her  to  love  him,  he  had 
not  tried  to  prevent  it.  He  could  not  excuse  him 
self  ;  the  thought  of  gaining  her  affection  had  oc 
curred  to  him,  and  he  had  put  it  aside.  There  was  no 
excuse ;  for  when  she  gave  her  love,  he  had  accepted 
it,  and,  as  far  as  she  knew,  had  given  his  own  unre 
servedly.  Ah,  that  fatal  moment  of  weakness,  that 
night  on  the  mountain  -  side !  Could  he  tell  her, 
could  he  tell  Raines,  the  truth,  and  ask  to  be  released  ? 
What  could  Easter  with  her  devotion,  and  Raines 
with  his  singleness  of  heart,  know  of  this  substitute 
for  love  which  civilization  had  taught  him  ?  Or, 
granting  that  they  could  understand,  he  might  return 
home  ;  but  Easter — what  was  left  for  her  ? 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  persuade  himself  that  her 
love  would  fade  away,  perhaps  quickly,  and  leave  no 
scar ;  that  Raines  would  in  time  win  her  for  himself, 
his  first  idea  of  their  union  be  realized,  and,  in  the 
end,  all  happen  for  the  best.  That  might  easily  be 
possible  with  a  different  nature  under  different  con 
ditions — a  nature  less  passionate,  in  contact  with  the 
world  and  responsive  to  varied  interests  ;  but  not 
with  Easter  —  alone  with  a  love  that  had  shamed 
him,  with  mountain,  earth,  and  sky  unchanged,  and 
the  vacant  days  marked  only  by  a  dreary  round  of 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  67 

wearisome  tasks.  He  remembered  Raines's  last  words 
— "Air  ye  goin'  to  leave  the  po'  gal  to  die  sorrowin' 
fer  ye  ?"  What  happiness  would  be  possible  for 
him  with  that  lonely  mountain -top  and  the  white 
drawn  face  forever  haunting  him  ? 

That  very  night  a  letter  came,  with  a  rude  super 
scription — the  first  from  Easter.  Within  it  was  a 
poor  tintype,  from  which  Easter's  eyes  looked  shyly 
at  him.  Before  he  left  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  get 
her  to  the  tent  of  an  itinerant  photographer.  During 
his  absence,  she  had  evidently  gone  of  her  own  ac 
cord.  The  face  was  very  beautiful,  and  in  it  was  an 
expression  of  questioning,  modest  pride.  "  Aren't 
you  surprised  ?"  it  seemed  to  say  —  "  and  pleased  ?" 
Only  the  face,  with  its  delicate  lines,  and  the  throat 
and  the  shoulders  were  visible.  She  looked  almost 
refined.  And  the  note — it  was  badly  spelled  and  writ 
ten  with  great  difficulty,  but  it  touched  him.  She 
was  lonely,  she  said,  and  she  wanted  him  to  come 
back.  Lonely — that  cry  was  in  each  line. 

His  response  to  this  was  an  instant  resolution  to 
go  back  at  once,  and,  sensitive  and  pliant  as  his  nat 
ure  was,  there  was  no  hesitation  for  him  when  his 
duty  was  clear  and  a  decision  once  made.  With 
great  care  and  perfect  frankness  he  had  traced  the 
history  of  his  infatuation  in  a  letter  to  his  father,  to 
be  communicated  when  the  latter  chose  to  his  moth 
er  and  sister.  Now  he  was  nearing  the  mountains 
again. 


68  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 


XI 

THE  journey  to  the  mountains  was  made  with  a 
heavy  heart.  In  his  absence  everything  seemed  to 
have  suffered  a  change.  Jellico  had  never  seemed  so 

O 

small,  so  coarse,  so  wretched  as  when  he  stepped 
from  the  dusty  train  and  saw  it  lying  dwarfed  and 
shapeless  in  the  afternoon  sunlight.  The  State  line 
bisects  the  straggling  streets  of  frame-houses.  On 
the  Kentucky  side  an  extraordinary  spasm  of  mo 
rality  had  quieted  into  local  option.  Just  across  the 
way  in  Tennessee  was  a  row  of  saloons.  It  was 
"  pay-day  "  for  the  miners,  and  the  worst  element  of 
all  the  mines  was  drifting  in  to  spend  the  following 
Sabbath  in  unchecked  vice.  Several  rough,  brawny 
fellows  were  already  staggering  from  Tennessee  into 
Kentucky,  and  around  one  saloon  hung  a  crowd  of 
slatternly  negroes,  men  and  women.  Heartsick  with 
disgust,  Clayton  hurried  into  the  lane  that  wound 
through  the  valley.  Were  these  hovels,  he  asked  him 
self  in  wonder,  the  cabins  he  once  thought  so  poetic, 
so  picturesque  ?  How  was  it  that  they  suggested  now 
only  a  pitiable  poverty  of  life  ?  From  each,  as  he 
passed,  came  a  rough,  cordial  shout  of  greeting. 
Why  was  he  jarred  so  strangely  ?  Even  nature  had 
changed.  The  mountains  seemed  stunted,  less  beau 
tiful.  The  light,  streaming  through  the  western  gap 
with  all  the  splendor  of  a  mountain  sunset,  no  longer 
thrilled  him.  The  moist  fragrance  of  the  earth  at 
twilight,  the  sad  pipings  of  birds  by  the  wayside,  the 
faint,  clear  notes  of  a  wood  -  thrush — his  favorite — 
from  the  edge  of  the  forest,  even  the  mid-air  song  of 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  69 

a  meadow  -  lark  above  his  head,  were  unheeded  as, 
with  face  haggard  with  thought  and  travel,  he  turned 
doggedly  from  the  road  and  up  the  mountain  towards 
Easter's  home.  The  novelty  and  ethnological  zeal 
that  had  blinded  him  to  the  disagreeable  phases  of 
mountain  life  were  gone ;  so  was  the  pedestal  from 
which  he  had  descended  to  make  a  closer  study  of 
the  people.  For  he  felt  now  that  he  had  gone  among 
them  with  an  unconscious  condescension  ;  his  inter 
est  seemed  now  to  have  been  little  more  than  curios 
ity — a  pastime  to  escape  brooding  over  his  own 
change  of  fortune.  And  with  Easter — ah,  how  pain 
fully  clear  his  mental  vision  had  grown  !  Was  it  the 
tragedy  of  wasting  possibilities  that  had  drawn  him 
to  her — to  help  her — or  was  it  his  own  miserable  self 
ishness,  after  all  ? 

No  one  was  visible  when  he  reached  the  cabin. 
The  calm  of  mountain  and  sky  enthralled  it  as  com 
pletely  as  the  cliff  that  towered  behind  it.  The  day 
still  lingered,  and  the  sunlight  rested  lightly  on  each 
neighboring  crest.  As  he  stepped  upon  the  porch 
there  was  a  slight  noise  within  the  cabin,  and,  peer 
ing  into  the  dark  interior,  he  called  Easter's  name. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  he  sank  wearily  into  a 
chair,  his  thoughts  reverting  homeward.  By  this 
time  his  mother  and  sister  must  know  why  he  had 
come  back  to  the  mountains.  He  could  imagine 
their  consternation  and  grief.  Perhaps  that  was 
only  the  beginning ;  he  might  be  on  the  eve  of  caus 
ing  them  endless  unhappiness.  He  had  thought  to 
involve  them  as  little  as  possible  by  remaining  in  the 
mountains  ;  but  the  thought  of  living  there  was  now 
intolerable  in  the  new  relations  he  would  sustain  to 


70  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

the  people.  What  should  he  do?  where  go?  As  he 
bent  forward  in  perplexity,  there  was  a  noise  again 
in  the  cabin — this  time  the  stealthy  tread  of  feet — 
and  before  he  could  turn,  a  rough  voice  vibrated 
threateningly  in  his  ears  : 

"  Say  who  ye  air,  and  what  yer  business  is,  mighty 
quick,  er  ye  hain't  got  a  minute  to  live." 

Clayton  looked  up,  and  to  his  horror  saw  the 
muzzle  of  a  rifle  pointed  straight  at  his  head.  At 
the  other  end  of  it,  and  standing  in  the  door,  was  a 
short,  stocky  figure,  a  head  of  bushy  hair,  and  a  pair 
of  small,  crafty  eyes.  The  fierceness  and  suddenness 
of  the  voice,  in  the  great  silence  about  him,  and  its 
terrible  earnestness,  left  him  almost  paralyzed. 

"  Come,  who  air  ye  ?  Say  quick,  and  don't  move, 
nother." 

Clayton  spoke  his  name  with  difficult}'.  The  butt 
of  the  rifle  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  with  a  harsh 
laugh  its  holder  advanced  to  him  with  hand  out 
stretched  : 

"  So  ye  air  Easter's  feller,  air  ye  ?  Well,  I'm  yer 
dad— that's  to  be.  Shake." 

Clayton  shuddered.  Good  heavens !  this  was  East 
er's  father !  More  than  once  or  twice,  his  name  had 
never  been  mentioned  at  the  cabin. 

"  I  tuk  ye  fer  a  raider,"  continued  the  old  moun 
taineer,  not  noticing  Clayton's  repulsion,  "  'n'  ef  ye 
had  'a'  been,  ye  wouldn't  be  nobody  now.  I  reckon 
Easter  hain't  told  ye  much  about  me,  'n'  I  reckon  she 
hev  a  right  to  be  a  leetle  ashamed  of  me.  I  had  a 
leetle  trouble  down  thar  in  the  valley — I  s'pose  you've 
heerd  about  it — 'n'  I've  had  to  keep  kind  o'  quiet. 
I  seed  ye  once  afore,  'n'  I  come  near  shootin'  ye, 


DAD 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 


thinkin'  ye  was  a  raider.  Am  mighty  glad  I  didn't, 
fer  Easter  is  powerful  sot  on  ye.  Sherd  thought  I 
could  resk  comin'  down  to  the  weddin'.  They  hev 
kind  o'  give  up  the  s'arch,  'n'  none  o'  the  boys  won't 
tell  on  me.  We'll  hev  an  old-timer,  I  tell  ye.  Ye 
folks  from  the  scttlemints  air  mighty  high-heeled, 
but  old  Bill  Hicks  don't  allus  go  bar'footed.  He  kin 
step  purty  high,  'n'  he's  a-goin'  to  do  it  at  that 
weddin'.  Hev  somefin'  ?"  he  asked,  suddenly  pull 
ing  out  a  flask  of  colorless  liquid.  "  Ez  ye  air  to  be 
one  o'  the  fambly,  I  don't  mind  tellin'  ye  thar's  the 
very  moonshine  that  caused  the  leetle  trouble  down 
in  the  valley." 

For  fear  of  giving  offence,  Clayton  took  a  swallow 
of  the  liquid,  which  burned  him  like  fire.  He  had 
scarcely  recovered  from  the  first  shock,  and  he  had 
listened  to  the  man  and  watched  him  with  a  sort  of 
enthralling  fascination.  He  was  Easter's  father.  He 
could  even  see  a  faint  suggestion  of  Easter's  face  in 
the  cast  of  the  features  before  him,  coarse  and  de 
graded  as  they  were.  He  had  the  same  nervous,  im 
petuous  quickness,  and,  horrified  by  the  likeness^ 
Clayton  watched  him  sink  back  into  a  chair,  pipe  in 
mouth,  and  relapse  into  a  stolidity  that  seemed  in 
capable  of  the  energy  and  fire  shown  scarcely  a  mo 
ment  before.  His  life  in  the  mountains  had  made 
him  as  shaggy  as  some  wild  animal.  He  was  coat- 
less,  and  his  trousers  of  jeans  were  upheld  by  a 
single  home-made  suspender.  His  beard  was  yet 
scarcely  touched  with  gray,  and  his  black,  lustreless 
hair  fell  from  under  a  round  hat  of  felt  with  ragged 
edges  and  uncertain  color.  The  mountaineer  did 
not  speak  again  until;  with  great  deliberation  and 


72  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

care,  he  had  filled  a  cob  pipe.  Then  he  bent  his 
sharp  eyes  upon  Clayton  so  fixedly  that  the  latter  let 
his  own  fall. 

"Mebbe  ye  don't  know  that  I'm  ag'in'  furriners," 
he  said,  abruptly,  "  all  o'  ye ;  V  ef  the  Lord  hisself 
hed  'a'  tol'  me  thet  my  gal  would  be  a-marryin'  one, 
I  wouldn't  'a'  believed  him.  But  Sherd  hev  tol'  me 
ye  air  all  right,  V  ef  Sherd  says  ye  air,  why,  ye  air, 
I  reckon,  V  I  hevn't  got  nothin'  to  say  ;  though  I 
hev  got  a  heap  ag'in'  ye — all  o'  ye." 

His  voice  had  a  hint  of  growing  anger  under  the 
momentary  sense  of  his  wrongs,  and,  not  wishing  to 
incense  him  further,  Clayton  said  nothing. 

"Ye  air  back  a  little  sooner  than  ye  expected, 
ain't  ye  ?"  he  asked,  presently,  with  an  awkward 
effort  at  good -humor.  "I  reckon  ye  air  gittin' 
anxious.  Well,  we  hev  been  gittin'  ready  fer  ye,  V 
you  'n'  Easter  kin  hitch  ez  soon  ez  ye  please.  Sherd 
Raines  air  goin'  to  do  the  marryin'.  He  air  the  best 
friend  I  got.  Sherd  was  a-courtin'  the  gal,  too,  but 
he  hevn't  got  no  gredge  ag'in'  ye,  V  he  hev  promised 
to  tie  ye.  Sherd  air  a  preacher  now.  He  hev  just 
got  his  license.  He  didn't  want  to  do  it,  but  I  told 
him  he  had  to.  We'll  hev  the  biggest  weddin'  ever 
seed  in  these  mountains,  I  tell  ye.  Any  o'  yo'  folks 
be  on  hand  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Clayton,  soberly,  "  I  think  not." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  we  kin  fill  up  the  house." 

Clayton's  heart  sank  at  the  ordeal  of  a  wedding 

with  such  a  master  of  ceremonies.     He  was  about 

to   ask  where   Easter  and   her  mother  were,  when, 

to  his  relief,  he  saw  them  both  in  the  path  below, 

approaching  the    house.     The  girl  was    carrying  a 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  73 

bucket  of  water  on  her  head.  Once  he  would  have 
thought  her  picturesque,  but  now  it  pained  him  to 
see  her  doing  such  rough  work.  When  she  saw 
him,  she  gave  a  cry  of  surprise  and  delight  that 
made  Clayton  tingle  with  remorse.  Then  running 
to  him  with  glowing  face,  she  stopped  suddenly, 
and,  with  a  look  down  at  her  bare  feet  and  soiled 
gown,  fled  into  the  cabin.  Clayton  followed,  but  the 
room  was  so  dark  he  could  see  nothing. 

"  Easter  !"  he  called.  There  was  no  answer,  but  he 
was  suddenly  seized  about  the  neck  by  a  pair  of  un 
seen  arms  and  kissed  by  unseen  lips  twice  in  fierce 
succession,  and  before  he  could  turn  and  clasp  the 
girl  she  was  laughing  softly  in  the  next  room, 
with  a  barred  door  between  them.  Clayton  waited 
patiently  several  minutes,  and  then  asked : 

"  Easter,  aren't  you  ready  ?" 

"  Not  yit — not  yet  /"  She  corrected  herself  with 
such  vehemence  that  Clayton  laughed.  She  came 
out  presently,  and  blushed  when  Clayton  looked  her 
over  from  head  to  foot  with  astonishment.  She  was 
simply  and  prettily  dressed  in  white  muslin  ;  a  blue 
ribbon  was  about  her  throat,  and  her  hair  was 
gathered  in  a  Psyche  knot  that  accented  the  classi 
cism  of  her  profile.  Her  appearance  was  really  re 
fined  and  tasteful.  When  they  went  out  on  the 
porch  he  noticed  that  her  hands  had  lost  their  tanned 
appearance.  Her  feet  were  slippered,  and  she  wore 
black  stockings.  He  remembered  the  book  of  fashion- 
plates  he  had  once  sent  her;  it  was  that  that  had 
quickened  her  instinct  of  dress.  He  said  nothing, 
but  the  happy  light  in  Easter's  face  shone  brighter 
as  she  noted  his  pleased  and  puzzled  gaze. 


74  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

"Why,  ye  look  like  another  man,"  said  Easter's 
mother,  who  had  been  looking  Clayton  over  with  a 
quizzical  smile.  "  Is  that  the  way  folks  dress  out  in 
the  settlemints?  'N'  look  at  that  gal.  Ef  she  hev 
done  anythin'  sence  ye  hev  been  gone  but — "  The 
rest  of  the  sentence  was  smothered  in  the  palm  of 
Easter's  hand,  and  she  too  began  scrutinizing  Clay 
ton  closely.  The  mountaineer  said  nothing,  and  af 
ter  a  curious  glance  at  Easter  resumed  his  pipe. 

"You  look  like  a  pair  o'  butterflies,"  said  the 
mother  when  released.  "  Sherd  oughter  be  mighty 
proud  of  his  first  marryin'.  I  s'pose  ye  know  he  air 
a  preacher  now  ?  Ye  oughter  heerd  him  preach  last 
Sunday.  It  was  his  fust  time.  The  way  he  lighted 
inter  the  furriners  was  a  caution.  He  'lowed  he 
was  a-goin'  to  fight  cyard-playin'  and  dancin'  ez  long 
ez  he  hed  breath." 

"  Yes ;  V  thar's  whar  Sherd  air  a  fool.  I'm  ag'in' 
furriners,  too,  but  thar  hain't  no  harm  in  dancin',  'n' 
thar's  goin'  to  be  dancin'  at  this  weddin'  ef  I'm 
alive." 

1  Easter  shrank  perceptibly  when  her  father  spoke, 
and  looked  furtively  at  Clayton,  who  winced,  in  spite 
of  himself,  as  the  rough  voice  grated  in  his  ear. 
Instantly  her  face  grew  unhappy,  and  contained  an 
appeal  for  pardon  that  he  was  quick  to  understand 
and  appreciate.  Thereafter  he  concealed  his  repul 
sion,  and  treated  the  rough  bear  so  affably  that 
Easter's  eyes  grew  moist  with  gratitude. 

Darkness  was  gathering  in  the  valley  below  when 
he  rose  to  go.  Easter  had  scarcely  spoken  to  him, 
but  her  face  and  her  eyes,  fixed  always  upon  him, 
were  eloquent  with  joy.  Once  as  she  passed  behind 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  75 

him  her  hand  rested  with  a  timid,  caressing  touch 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  now,  as  he  walked  away  from 
the  porch,  she  called  him  back.  He  turned,  and  she 
had  gone  into  the  house. 

"  What  is  it,  Easter  ?"  he  asked,  stepping  into  the 
dark  room.  His  hand  was  grasped  in  both  her  own 
and  held  tremblingly. 

"  Don't  mind  dad,"  she  whispered,  softly.  Some 
thing  warm  and  moist  fell  upon  his  hand  as  she  un 
loosed  it,  and  she  was  gone. 

That  night  he  wrote  home  in  a  better  frame  of 
mind.  The  charm  of  the  girl's  personality  had  as 
serted  its  power  again,  and  hopes  that  had  almost 
been  destroyed  by  his  trip  home  were  rekindled  by 
her  tasteful  appearance,  her  delicacy  of  feeling,  and 
by  her  beauty,  which  he  had  not  overrated.  He 
asked  that  his  sister  might  meet  him  in  Louisville 
after  the  wedding — whenever  that  should  be.  They 
two  could  decide  then  what  should  be  done.  His 
own  idea  was  to  travel ;  and  so  great  was  his  confi 
dence  in  Easter,  he  believed  that,  in  time,  he  could 
take  her  to  New  York  without  fear. 


XII 

IT  was  plain  that  Raines — to  quiet  the  old  man's 
uneasiness,  perhaps — had  told  him  of  his  last  meet 
ing  with  Clayton,  and  that,  during  the  absence  of  the 
latter,  some  arrangements  for  the  wedding  had  been 
made,  even  by  Easter,  who  in  her  trusting  innocence 
had  perhaps  never  thought  of  any  other  end  to  their 
relations.  In  consequence,  there  was  an  unprece- 


76  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

dented  stir  among  the  mountaineers.  The  marriage 
of  a  "  citizen  "  with  a  "  f  urriner  "  was  an  unprece 
dented  event,  and  the  old  mountaineer,  who  began 
to  take  some  pride  in  the  alliance,  emphasized  it  at 
every  opportunity. 

At  the  mines  Clayton's  constant  visits  to  the 
mountain  were  known  to  everybody,  but  little  atten 
tion  had  been  paid  to  them.  Now,  however,  when 
the  rumor  of  the  wedding  seemed  confirmed  by  his 
return  and  his  silence,  every  one  was  alert  with  a 
curiosity  so  frankly  shown  that  he  soon  became 
eager  to  get  away  from  the  mountains.  Accordingly, 
he  made  known  his  wish  to  Easter's  parents  that  the 
marriage  should  take  place  as  soon  as  possible. 
Both  received  the  suggestion  with  silent  assent. 
Then  had  followed  many  difficulties.  Only  as  a 
great  concession  to  the  ideas  and  customs  of  "  f  urrin- 
ers"  would  the  self-willed  old  mountaineer  agree 
that  the  ceremony  should  take  place  at  night,  and 
that  after  the  supper  and  the  dance,  the  two  should 
leave  Jellico  at  daybreak.  Mountain  marriages  were 
solemnized  in  the  daytime,  and  wedding  journeys  were 
unknown.  The  old  man  did  not  understand  why 
Clayton  should  wish  to  leave  the  mountains,  and  the 
haste  of  the  latter  seemed  to  give  him  great  offence. 
When  Clayton  had  ventured  to  suggest,  instead,  that 
the  marriage  should  be  quiet,  and  that  he  and  Easter 
should  remain  on  the  mountain  a  few  days  before 
leaving,  he  fumed  with  anger;  and  thereafter  any 
suggestion  from  the  young  engineer  was  met  with  a 
suspicion  that  looked  ominous.  Raines  was  away  on 
his  circuit,  and  would  not  return  until  just  before  the 
wedding,  so  that  from  him  Clayton  could  get  no 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  77 

help.     Very  wisely,  then,  he  interfered  no  more,  but 
awaited  the  day  with  dread. 

It  was  nearing  dusk  when  he  left  the  camp  on  his 
wedding -night.  Half-way  up  the  mountain  he 
stopped  to  lean  against  the  kindly  breast  of  a  bowl 
der  blocking  the  path.  It  was  the  spot  where  he 
had  seen  Easter  for  the  first  time.  The  mountains 
were  green  again,  as  they  were  then,  but  the  scene 
seemed  sadly  changed.  The  sun  was  gone ;  the 
evening-star  had  swung  its  white  light  like  a  censer 
above  Devil's  Den  ;  the  clouds  were  moving  swiftly 
through  the  darkening  air,  like  a  frightened  flock 
seeking  a  fold  ;  and  the  night  was  closing  fast  over 
the  cluster  of  faint  camp-fires.  The  spirit  brooding 
over  mountain  and  sky  was  unspeakably  sad,  and 
with  a  sharp  pain  at  his  heart  Clayton  turned  from 
it  and  hurried  on.  Mountain,  sky,  and  valley  were 
soon  lost  in  the  night.  When  he  reached  the  cabin 
rays  of  bright  light  were  flashing  from  chink  and 
crevice  into  the  darkness,  and  from  the  kitchen  came 
the  sounds  of  busy  preparation.  Already  many 
guests  had  arrived.  A  group  of  men  who  stood 
lazily  talking  in  the  porch  became  silent  as  he  ap 
proached,  but,  recognizing  none  of  them,  he  entered 
the  cabin.  A  dozen  women  were  seated  about  the 
room,  and  instantly  their  eyes  were  glued  upon  him. 
As  the  kitchen  door  swung  open  he  saw  Easter's 
mother  bending  over  the  fireplace,  a  table  already 
heavily  laden,  and  several  women  bustling  about  it. 
Above  his  head  he  heard  laughter,  a  hurried  tramp 
ing  of  feet,  and  occasional  cries  of  surprise  and  de 
light.  He  paused  at  the  threshold,  hardly  knowing 
what  to  do,  and  when  he  turned  a  titter  from  one 


78  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

corner  showed  that  his  embarrassment  was  seen. 
On  the  porch  he  was  seized  by  Easter's  father,  who 
drew  him  back  into  the  room.  The  old  mountaineer's 
face  was  flushed,  and  he  had  been  drinking  heavily. 

"  Oh,  hyar  ye  air !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You're  rio;ht 
on  hand,  hain't  ye?  Hyar,  Bill,"  he  called,  thrusting 
his  head  out  of  the  door,  "you  V  Jim  V  Milt  come 
in  hyar."  Three  awkward  young  mountaineers  en 
tered.  "  These  fellers  air  goin'  to  help  ye." 

They  were  to  be  his  ushers.  Clayton  shook 
hands  with  them  gravely. 

"  Oh,  we  air  about  ready  fer  ye,  V  we  air  only 
waitin'  fer  Sherd  and  the  folks  to  come,"  continued  the 
mountaineer,  jubilantly,  winking  significantly  at  Clay 
ton  and  his  attendants,  who  stood  about  him  at  the 
fireplace.  Clayton  shook  his  head  firmly,  but  the 
rest  followed  Hicks,  who  turned  at  the  door  and  re 
peated  the  invitation  with  a  frowning  face.  Clayton 
was  left  the  focus  of  feminine  eyes,  whose  unwaver 
ing  directness  kept  his  own  gaze  on  the  floor.  Peo 
ple  began  to  come  in  rapidly,  most  of  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before.  The  room  was  filled,  save  for  a 
space  about  him.  Every  one  gave  him  a  look  of 
curiosity  that  made  him  feel  like  some  strange  ani 
mal  on  exhibition.  Once  more  he  tried  to  escape  to 
the  porch,  and  again  he  was  met  by  Easter's  father, 
who  this  time  was  accompanied  by  Raines. 

The  young  circuit-rider  was  smoothly  shaven,  and 
dressed  in  dark  clothes,  and  his  calm  face  and  simple 
but  impressive  manner  seemed  at  once  to  alter  the 
atmosphere  of  the  room.  He  grasped  Clayton's 
hand  warmly,  and  without  a  trace  of  self-conscious 
ness.  The  room  had  grown  instantly  quiet,  and 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  79 

Raines  began  to  share  the  curious  interest  that  Clay 
ton  had  caused;  for  the  young  mountaineer's  sermon 
had  provoked  discussion  far  and  wide,  and,  moreover, 
the  peculiar  relations  of  the  two  towards  Easter  were 
known  and  rudely  appreciated.  Hicks  was  subdued 
into  quiet  respect,  and  tried  to  conceal  his  incipient 
intoxication.  The  effort  did  not  last  long.  When 
the  two  fiddlers  came,  he  led  them  in  with  a  defiant 
air,  and  placed  them  in  the  corner,  bustling  about 
officiously  but  without  looking  at  Raines,  whose  face 
began  to  cloud. 

"  Well,  we're  all  hyar,  I  reckon  !"  he  exclaimed,  in 
his  terrible  voice.  "  Is  Easter  ready  ?"  he  shouted 
up  the  steps. 

A  confused  chorus  answered  him  affirmatively,  and 
he  immediately  arranged  Clayton  in  one  corner  of 
the  room  with  his  serious  attendants  on  one  side, 
and  Raines,  grave  to  solemnity,  on  the  other.  East 
er's  mother  and  her  assistants  came  in  from  the 
kitchen,  and  the  doors  were  filled  with  faces.  Above, 
the  tramping  of  feet  became  more  hurried ;  below, 
all  stood  with  expectant  faces  turned  to  the  rude 
staircase.  Clayton's  heart  began  to  throb,  and  a 
strange  light  brightened  under  Raines's  heavy  brows. 

"  Hurry  up,  thar !"  shouted  Hicks,  impatiently. 

A  moment  later  two  pairs  of  rough  shoes  came 
down  the  steps,  and  after  them  two  slippered  feet 
that  fixed  every  eye  in  the  room,  until  the  figure  and 
face  above  them  slowly  descended  into  the  light. 
Midway  the  girl  paused  with  a  timid  air.  Had  an 
angel  been  lowered  to  mortal  view,  the  waiting  peo 
ple  would  not  have  been  stricken  with  more  wonder. 
Raines's  face  relaxed  into  a  look  almost  of  awe,  and 


80  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

even  Hicks  for  the  instant  was  stunned  into  rever 
ence.  Mountain  eyes  had  never  beheld  such  loveli 
ness  so  arrayed.  It  was  simple  enough — the  gar 
ment — all  white,  and  of  a  misty  texture,  yet  it  formed 
a  mysterious  vision  to  them.  About  the  giiTs  brow 
was  a  wreath  of  pink  and  white  laurel.  A  veil  had 
not  been  used.  It  would  hide  her  face,  she  said,  and 
she  did  not  see  why  that  should  be  done.  For  an 
instant  she  stood  poised  so  lightly  that  she  seemed 
to  sway  like  a  vision,  as  the  candle-lights  quivered 
about  her,  with  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her, 
and  her  eyes  wandering  about  the  room  till  they 
lighted  upon  Clayton  with  a  look  of  love  that  seemed 
to  make  her  conscious  only  of  him.  Then,  with 
quickening  breath,  lips  parted  slightly,  cheeks  slowly 
flushing,  and  shining  eyes  still  upon  him,  she  moved 
slowly  across  the  room  until  she  stood  at  his  side. 

Eaines  gathered  himself  together  as  from  a  dream, 
and  stepped  before  the  pair.  Broken  and  husky  at 
first,  his  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  himself,  but 
thereafter  there  was  no  hint  of  the  powerful  emo 
tions  at  play  within  him.  Only  as  he  joined  their 
hands,  his  eyes  rested  an  instant  with  infinite  tender 
ness  on  Easter's  face  —  as  though  the  look  were  a 
last  farewell — and  his  voice  deepened  with  solemn 
earnestness  when  he  bade  Clayton  protect  and  cher 
ish  her  until  death.  There  was  a  strange  mixture  in 
those  last  words  of  the  office  and  the  man — of  divine 
authority  and  personal  appeal  —  and  Clayton  was 
deeply  stirred.  The  benediction  over,  the  young 
preacher  was  turning  away,  when  some  one  called 
huskily  from  the  rear  of  the  cabin : 

"  Whyn't  ye  kiss  the  bride  ?" 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  81 

It  was  Easter's  father,  and  the  voice,  rough  as  it 
was,  brought  a  sensation  of  relief  to  all.  The  young 
mountaineer's  features  contracted  with  swift  pain, 
and  as  Easter  leaned  towards  him,  with  subtle  delica 
cy,  he  touched,  not  her  lips,  but  her  forehead,  as  rev 
erently  as  though  she  had  been  a  saint. 

Instantly  the  fiddles  began,  the  floor  was  cleared, 
the  bridal  party  hurried  into  the  kitchen,  and  the 
cabin  began  to  shake  beneath  dancing  feet.  Hicks 
was  fulfilling  his  word,  and  in  the  kitchen  his  wife 
had  done  her  part.  Everything  known  to  the 
mountaineer  palate  was  piled  in  profusion  on  the 
table,  but  Clayton  and  Easter  ate  nothing.  To  him 
the  whole  evening  was  a  nightmare,  which  the  solemn 
moments  of  the  marriage  had  made  the  more  hide 
ous.  He  was  restless  and  eager  to  get  away.  The 
dancing  was  becoming  more  furious,  and  above  the 
noise  rose  Hicks's  voice  prompting  the  dancers.  The 
ruder  ones  still  hung  about  the  doors,  regarding 
Clayton  curiously,  or  with  eager  eyes  upon  the  feast. 
Easter  was  vaguely  troubled,  and  conflicting  with 
the  innocent  pride  and  joy  in  her  eyes  were  the 
questioning  glances  she  turned  to  Clayton's  darken 
ing  face.  At  last  they  were  hurried  out,  and  in  came 
the  crowd  like  hungry  wolves. 

Placing  Clayton  and  Easter  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  the  attendants  themselves  took  part  in  the 
dancing,  and  such  dancing  Clayton  had  never  seen. 
Doors  and  windows  were  full  of  faces,  and  the  room 
was  crowded ;  from  the  kitchen  came  coarse  laughter 
and  the  rattling  of  dishes.  Occasionally  Hicks  would 
disappear  with  several  others,  and  would  return  with 
his  face  redder  than  ever. 


82  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

Easter  became  uneasy.  Once  she  left  Clayton's 
side  and  expostulated  with  her  father,  but  he  shook 
her  from  his  arm  roughly.  Raines  saw  this,  and  a 
moment  later  he  led  the  old  mountaineer  from  the 
room.  Thereafter  the  latter  was  quieter,  but  only 
for  a  little  while.  Several  times  the  kitchen  was 
filled  and  emptied,  and  ever  was  the  crowd  unsteadier. 
Soon  even  Raines's  influence  was  of  no  avail,  and 
the  bottle  was  passed  openly  from  guest  to  guest. 

"  Whyn't  ye  dance  ?" 

Clayton  felt  his  arm  grasped,  and  Hicks  stood 
swaying  before  him. 

"  Whyn't  ye  dance  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Can't  ye 
dance  ?  Mebbe  ye  air  too  good — like  Sherd.  Well, 
Easter  kin.  Hyar,  Mart,  come  V  dance  with  the  gal. 
She  air  the  best  dancer  in  these  parts." 

Clayton  laid  his  hand  upon  Easter  as  though  to 
forbid  her.  The  mountaineer  saw  the  movement, 
and  his  face  flamed  ;  but  before  he  could  speak,  the 
girl  pressed  Clayton's  arm,  and,  with  an  appealing 
glance,  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  That's  right,"  said  her  father,  approvingly,  but 
with  a  look  of  drunken  malignancy  towards  Clayton. 
"  Now,"  he  called  out,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  want  this 
couple  to  have  the  floor,  'n'  everybody  to  look  on  'n' 
see  what  is  dancin'.  Starfe  the  fiddles,  boys." 

It  was  dancing.  The  young  mountaineer  was  a  slen 
der,  active  fellow,  not  without  grace,  and  Easter  seemed 
hardly  to  touch  the  floor.  They  began  very  slowly 
at  first,  till  Easter,  glancing  aside  at  Clayton  and  see 
ing  his  face  deepen  with  interest,  and  urged  by  the 
remonstrances  of  her  father,  the  remarks  of  the  on 
lookers,  and  the  increasing  abandon  of  the  music, 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  83 

gave  herself  up  to  the  dance.  The  young  mountaineer 
was  no  mean  partner.  Forward  and  back  they  glided, 
their  swift  feet  beating  every  note  of  the  music ; 
Easter  receding  before  her  partner,  and  now  advanc 
ing  towards  him,  now  whirling  away  with  a  disdain 
ful  toss  of  head  and  arms,  and  now  giving  him  her 
hand  and  whirling  till  her  white  skirts  floated  from 
the  floor.  At  last,  with  head  bent  coquettishly  tow 
ards  her  partner,  she  danced  around  him,  and  when 
it  seemed  that  she  would  be  caught  by  his  out 
stretched  hands  she  slipped  from  his  clasp,  and,  with 
burning  cheeks,  flashing  eyes,  and  bridal  wreath 
showering  its  pink-flecked  petals  about  her,  flew  to 
Clayton's  side. 

"  Mebbe  ye  don't  like  that,"  cried  Hicks,  turning 
to  Raines,  who  had  been  gravely  watching  the 
scene. 

Raines  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  only  looked  the 
drunken  man  in  the  face. 

"  You  two,"  he  continued,  indicating  Clayton  with 
an  angry  shake  of  his  head,  "  air  a-tryin'  to  spile 
ever' body's  fun.  Both  of  ye  air  too  high-heeled  fer 
us  folks.  Y'u  hev  got  mighty  good  now  that  ye  air 
a  preacher,"  he  added,  with  a  drunken  sneer,  irrita 
ted  beyond  endurance  by  Raines's  silence  and  his 
steady  look.  "  I  want  ye  to  know  Bill  Hicks  air 
a-runnin'  things  here,  V  I  don't  want  no  meddlin'. 
I'll  drink  right  here  in  front  o'  ye" — holding  a  bottle 
defiantly  above  his  head — "  V  I  mean  to  dance,  too. 
I  warn  ye  now,"  he  added,  staggering  towards  the 
door,  "  I  don't  want  no  meddlin'." 

Easter  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Her 
mother  stood  near  her  husband,  helplessly  trying  to 


84  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

get  him  away,  and  fearing  to  arouse  him  more. 
Raines  was  the  most  composed  man  in  the  room,  and 
a  few  moments  later,  when  dancing  was  resumed, 
Clayton  heard  his  voice  at  his  ear : 

"  You'd  better  go  up-stairs  'n'  wait  till  it's  time  to 
go,"  he  said.  "  He  hev  got  roused  ag'in'  ye,  and 
ag'in'  me  too.  I'll  keep  out  o'  his  way  so  as  not  to 
aggravate  him,  but  I'll  stay  hyar  fer  fear  something 
will  happen.  Mebbe  he'll  sober  up  a  little,  but  I'm 
afeard  he'll  drink  more  'n  ever." 

A  moment  later,  unseen  by  the  rest,  the  two  mount 
ed  the  stairway  to  the  little  room  where  Easter's 
girlhood  had  been  passed.  To  Clayton  the  peace  of 
the  primitive  little  chamber  was  an  infinite  relief.  A 
dim  light  showed  a  rude  bed  in  one  corner  and  a  pine 
table  close  by,  whereon  lay  a  few  books  and  a  pen  and 
an  ink-bottle.  Above,  the  roof  rose  to  a  sharp  angle, 
and  the  low,  unplastered  walls  were  covered  with 
pictures  cut  from  the  books  he  had  given  her.  A 
single  window  opened  into  the  night  over  the  valley 
and  to  the  mountains  beyond.  Two  small  cane-bot 
tom  chairs  were  near  this,  and  in  these  they  sat 
down.  In  the  east  dark  clouds  were  moving  swiftly 
across  the  face  of  the  moon,  checking  its  light  and 
giving  the  dim  valley  startling  depth  and  blackness. 
Rain-drops  struck  the  roof  at  intervals,  a  shower  of 
apple-blossoms  rustled  against  the  window  and  drift 
ed  on,  and  below  the  muffled  sound  of  music  and 
shuffling  feet  was  now  and  then  pierced  by  the  shrill 
calls  of  the  prompter.  There  was  something  omi 
nous  in  the  persistent  tread  of  feet  and  the  steady 
flight  of  the  gloomy  clouds,  and,  quivering  with 
vague  fears,  Easter  sank  down  from  her  chair  to 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  85 

Clayton's  feet,  and  burst  into  tears,  as  he  put  his 
arms  tenderly  about  her. 

"  Has  he  ever  treated  you  badly  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  ;  "  it's  only  the  whiskey." 

It  was  not  alone  of  her  father's  behavior  that 
she  was  thinking.  Memories  were  busy  within  her, 
and  a  thousand  threads  of  feeling  were  tightening 
her  love  of  home,  the  only  home  she  had  ever  known. 
Now  she  was  leaving  it  for  a  strange  world  of  which 
she  knew  nothing,  and  the  thought  pierced  her  like 
a  physical  pain. 

"  Are  we  ever  coming  back  ag'in  ?"  she  asked,  with 
sudden  fear. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  answered  Clayton,  divining  her 
thoughts ;  "  whenever  you  wish." 

After  that  she  grew  calmer,  and  remained  quiet  so 
long  that  she  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep  like  a  tired 
child  relieved  of  its  fears.  Leaning  forward,  he 
looked  into  the  darkness.  It  was  after  midnight, 
surely.  The  clouds  had  become  lighter,  more  lumi 
nous,  and  gradually  the  moon  broke  through  them, 
lifting  the  pall  from  the  valley,  playing  about  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  and  quivering  at  last  on  the  win 
dow.  As  he  bent  back  to  look  at  the  sleeping  girl, 
the  moonlight  fell  softly  upon  her  face,  revealing  its 
purity  of  color,  and  touching  the  loosened  folds  of 
her  hair,  and  shining  through  a  tear-drop  which  had 
escaped  from  her  closed  lashes.  How  lovely  the  face 
was !  How  pure  !  How  childlike  with  all  its  hidden 
strength  !  How  absolute  her  confidence  in  him  ! 
How  great  her  love !  It  was  of  her  love  that  he 
thought,  not  of  his  own ;  but  with  a  new  realization 
of  her  dependence  upon  him  for  happiness,  his  clasp 


8ft  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

tightened  about  her  almost  unconsciously.  She 
stirred  slightly,  and,  bending  his  head  lower,  Clayton 
whispered  in  her  ear : 

"  Have  you  been  asleep,  dear  ?" 

She  lifted  her  face  and  looked  tenderly  into  his 
eyes,  shaking'her  head  slowly,  and  then,  as  he  bent 
over  again,  she  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  strained  his  face  to  hers. 

Not  until  the  opening  of  the  door  at  the  stairway 
stirred  them  did  they  notice  that  the  music  and  dan 
cing  below  had  ceased.  The  door  was  instantly  closed 
again  after  a  slight  sound  of  scuffling,  and  in  the 
moment  of  stillness  that  followed,  they  heard  Raines 
say  calmly : 

"  No  ;  you  can't  go  up  thar." 

A  brutal  oath  answered  him,  and  Easter  started  to 
her  feet  when  she  heard  her  father's  voice,  terrible 
with  passion ;  but  Clayton  held  her  back,  and  hur 
ried  down  the  stairway. 

"  Ef  ye  don't  come  away  from  that  door,"  he  could 
hear  Hicks  saying,  "  V  stop  this  meddlin',  I'll  kill 
you  'stid  o'  the  furriner." 

As  Clayton  thrust  the  door  open,  Raines  was  stand 
ing  a  few  feet  from  the  stairway.  The  drunken 
man  was  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  several  moun 
taineers,  who  were  coaxing  and  dragging  him  across 
the  room.  About  them  were  several  other  men 
scarcely  able  to  stand,  and  behind  these  a  crowd  of 
shrinking  women. 

"  Git  back !  git  back !"  said  Raines,  in  low,  hur 
ried  tones. 

But  Hicks  had  caught  sight  of  Clayton.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  still,  glaring  at  him.  Then,  with  a 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  87 

furious  effort,  he  wrenched  himself  from  the  men  who 
held  him,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  back, 
ing  against  the  wall.  The  crowd  fell  away  from  him 
as  a  weapon  was  drawn  and  levelled  with  unsteady 
hand  at  Clayton.  Raines  sprang  forward ;  Clayton 
felt  his  arm  clutched,  and  a  figure  darted  past  him. 
The  flash  came,  and  when  Raines  wrenched  the 
weapon  from  the  mountaineer's 'grasp  the  latter  was 
standing  rigid,  with  horror-stricken  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  smoke,  in  which  Easter's  white  face  showed  like 
an  apparition.  As  the  smoke  drifted  aside,  the  girl 
was  seen  with  both  hands  at  her  breast.  Then,  while  a 
silent  terror  held  every  one,  she  turned,  and,  with  out 
stretched  hands, tottered  towards  Clayton;  and  as  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  a  low  moan  broke  from  her  lips* 

Some  one  hurried  away  for  a  physician,  but  the 
death-watch  was  over  before  he  came. 

For  a  long  time  the  wounded  girl  lay  apparently 
unconscious,  her  face  white  and  quiet,  Only  when  a 
wood-thrush  called  from  the  woods  close  by  were  her 
lids  half  raised,  and  as  Clayton  pushed  the  shutter 
open  above  her  arid  lifted  her  gently,  she  opened  her 
eyes'with  a  grateful  look  and  turned  her  face  eagerly 
to  the  cool  air. 

The  dawn  was  breaking.  The  east  was  already 
aflame  with  bars  of  rosy  light,  gradually  widening. 
Above  them  a  single  star  was  poised,  and  in  the 
valley  below  great  white  mists  were  stirring  from 
sleep.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  be  listlessly 
watching  the  white,  shapeless  things,  trembling  as 
with  life,  and  creeping  silently  into  wood  and  up 
glen  ;  and  then  her  lashes  drooped  wearily  together. 


88  A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

The  door  opened  as  Clayton  let  her  sink  upon  the 
bed,  breathing  as  if  asleep,  and  he  turned,  expecting 
the  physician.  Raines,  too,  rose  eagerly,  stopped 
suddenly,  and  shrank  back  with  a  shudder  of  repul 
sion  as  the  figure  of  the  wretched  father  crept,  half 
crouching,  within. 

"  Sherd  !" 

The  girl's  tone  was  full  of  gentle  reproach,  and  so 
soft  that  it  reached  only  Clayton's  ears. 

"  Sherd  !" 

This  time  his  name  was  uttered  with  an  appeal 
ever  so  gentle. 

"  Pore  dad  !  Pore  dad  !"  she  whispered.  Her 
clasp  tightened  suddenly  on  Clayton's  hand,  and  her 
eyes,  were  held  to  his,  even  while  the  light  in  them 
was  going  out. 

A  week  later  two  men  left  the  cabin  at  dusk. 

Half-way  down  the  slope  they  came  to  one  of  the 
unspeakably  mournful  little  burying-grounds  where 
in  the  mountain  people  rest  after  their  narrow  lives. 
It  was  unhedged,  uncared  for,  and  a  few  crumbling 
boards  for  headstones  told  the  living  generation 
where  the  dead  were  at  rest.  For  a  moment  they 
paused  to  look  at  a  spot  under  a  great  beech  where 
the  earth  had  been  lately  disturbed. 

"  It  air  shorely  hard  to  see,"  said  one,  in  a  low, 
slow  voice,  "  why  she  was  taken,  V  him  left ;  why 
she  should  hev  to  give  her  life  fer  the  life  he  took. 
But  He  knows,  He  knows,"  the  mountaineer  continued, 
with  unfaltering  trust;  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
struggle  to  reconcile  fact  with  faith:  "The  Lord 
took  whut  He  keered  fer  most,  V  she  was  ready,  V 
he  wasn't." 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA  89 

The  other  made  no  reply,  and  they  kept  on  in  si 
lence.  Upon  a  spur  of  the  mountain  beneath  which 
the  little  mining -town  had  sunk  to  quiet  for  the 
night  they  parted  with  a  hand-clasp.  Not  till  then 
was  the  silence  broken. 

"  Thar  seems  to  be  a  penalty  fer  lovin'  too  much 
down  hyar,"  said  one ;  "  V  I  reckon,"  he  added, 
slowly,  "  that  both  of  us  hev  got  hit  to  pay." 

Turning,  the  speaker  retraced  his  steps.  The 
other  kept  on  toward  the  lights  below. 


A   CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA 


A   CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA 


THE  cave  had  been  their  hiding-place  as  children  ; 
it  was  a  secret  refuge  now  against  hunger  or  dark 
ness  when  they  were  hunting  in  the  woods.  The 
primitive  meal  was  finished ;  ashes  were  raked  over 
the  red  coals ;  the  slice  of  bacon  and  the  little  bag  of 
meal  were  hung  high  against  the  rock  wall ;  and  the 
two  stepped  from  the  cavern  into  a  thicket  of  rhodo 
dendrons. 

Parting  the  bushes  towards  the  dim  light,  they 
stood  on  a  massive  shoulder  of  the  mountain,  the 
river  girding  it  far  below,  and  the  afternoon  shadows 
at  their  feet.  Both  carried  guns  :  the  tall  mountain 
eer,  a  Winchester;  the  boy,  a  squirrel  rifle  longer 
than  himself.  Climbing  about  the  rocky  spur,  they 
kept  the  same  level  over  log  and  bowlder  and  through 
bushy  ravine  to  the  north.  In  half  an  hour  they  ran 
into  a  path  that  led  up  home  from  the  river,  and  they 
stopped  to  rest  on  a  cliff  that  sank  in  a  solid  black 
wall  straight  under  them.  The  sharp  edge  of  a  steep 
cornfield  ran  near,  and,  stripped  of  blade  and  tassel, 
the  stalks  and  hooded  ears  looked  in  the  coming  dusk 
a  little  like  monks  at  prayer.  In  the  sunlight  across 
the  river,  the  corn  stood  thin  and  frail.  Over  there 


94  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

a  drouth  was  on  it ;  and  when  drifting  thistle-plumes 
marked  the  noontide  of  the  year,  each  yellow  stalk 
had  withered  blades  and  an  empty  sheath.  Every 
where  a  look  of  vague  trouble  lay  upon  the  face  of  the 
mountains,  and  when  the  wind  blew  the  silver  of  the 
leaves  showed  ashen.  Autumn  was  at  hand. 

There  was  no  physical  sign  of  kinship  between 
the  two,  half-brothers  though  they  were.  The  tall 
one  was  dark ;  the  boy,  a  foundling,  had  flaxen  hair, 
and  was  stunted  and  slender.  He  was  a  dreamy- 
looking  little  fellow,  and  one  may  easily  find  his  like 
throughout  the  Cumberland — paler  than  his  fellows, 
from  staying  much  in-doors,  with  half-haunted  face, 
and  eyes  that  are  deeply  pathetic  when  not  cunning ; 
ignorantly  credited  with  idiocy  and  uncanny  powers  ; 
treated  with  much  forbearance,  some  awe,  and  a  little 
contempt ;  and  suffered  to  do  his  pleasure — nothing, 
or  much  that  is  strange — without  comment. 

"I  tell  ye,  Rome,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  thread  of 
talk  that  was  broken  at  the  cave,  "  when  Uncle  Gabe 
says  he's  afeard  thar's  trouble  comin',  hit's  a-comin' ; 
V  I  want  you  to  git  me  a  Winchester.  I'm  a-gittin' 
big  enough  now.  I  kin  shoot  might'  nigh  as  good 
as  you,  V  whut  am  I  fit  fer  with  this  hyeh  ole  paw 
paw  pop-gun  ?" 

"  I  don't  want  you  fightin',  boy,  I've  told  ye.  Y'u 
air  too  little  'n'  puny,  V  I  want  ye  to  stay  home 
'n'  take  keer  o'  mam  'n'  the  cattle — ef  fightin'  does 
come.  I  reckon  thar  won't  be  much." 

"Don't  ye?"  cried  the  boy,  with  sharp  contempt 
— "  with  ole  Jas  Lewallen  a-devilin'  Uncle  Rufe,  'n' 
that  black-headed  young  Jas  a-climbin'  on  stumps 

'n'  sayin'  out 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  95 

open  in  Hazlan  that  ye  air  afeard  o'  him  ?  Yes ;  V 
he  called  me  a  idgit."  The  boy's  voice  broke  into 
£  whimper  of  rage. 

"  Shet  up,  Isom  !  Don't  you  go  gittin'  mad  now. 
You'll  be  sick  ag'in.  I'll  tend  to  him  when  the 
time  comes."  Rome  spoke  with  rough  kindness, 
but  ugly  lines  had  gathered  at  his  mouth  and  fore 
head.  The  boy's  tears  came  and  went  easily.  He 
drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and  looked  up  the 
river.  Beyond  the  bend,  three  huge  birds  rose  into 
the  sunlight  and  floated  towards  them.  Close  at 
hand,  they  swerved  sidevvise. 

"They  hain't  buzzards,"  he  said,  standing  up,  his 
anger  gone  ;  "  look  at  them  straight  wings  !" 

Again  the  eagles  swerved,  and  two  shot  across 
the  river.  The  third  dropped  with  shut  wings  to 
the  bare  crest  of  a  gaunt  old  poplar  under  them. 

"  Hit's  a  young  un,  Rome !"  said  the  boy,  excit 
edly.  "  He's  goin'  to  wait  thar  tell  the  old  uns 
come  back.  Gimme  that  gun  !" 

Catching  up  the  Winchester,  he  slipped  over  the 
ledge ;  and  Rome  leaned  suddenly  forward,  looking 
down  at  the  river. 

A  group  of  horsemen  had  ridden  around  the  bend, 
and  were  coming  at  a  walk  down  the  other  shore. 
Every  man  carried  something  across  his  saddle-bow. 
There  was  a  gray  horse  among  them — young  Jas 
per's — and  an  evil  shadow  came  into  Rome's  face, 
and  quickly  passed.  Near  a  strip  of  woods  the  gray 
turned  up  the  mountain  from  the  party,  and  on  its 
back  he  saw  the  red  glint  of  a  woman's  dress.  With 
a  half-smile  he  watched  the  scarlet  figure  ride  from 
the  woods,  and  climb  slowly  up  through  the  sunny 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 


corn.  On  the  spur  above,  and  full  in  the  rich  yellow 
light  she  halted,  half  turning  in  her  saddle.  He  rose 
to  his  feet,  to  his  full  height,  his  head  bare,  and* 
thrown  far  back  between  his  big  shoulders,  and, 
still  as  statues,  the  man  and  the  woman  looked  at 
each  other  across  the  gulf  of  darkening  air.  A  full 
minute  the  woman  sat  motionless,  then  rode  on.  At 
the  edge  of  the  woods  she  stopped  and  turned  again. 
The  eagle  under  Rome  leaped  one  stroke  in  the 
air,  and  dropped  like  a  clod  into  the  sea  of  leaves. 
The  report  of  the  gun  and  a  faint  cry  of  triumph 
rose  from  below.  It  was  good  marksmanship,  but 
on  the  cliff  Rome  did  not  heed  it.  Something  had 
fluttered  in  the  air  above  the  girl's  head,  and  he 
laughed  aloud.  She  was  waving  her  bonnet  at  him. 


It 


JUST  where  young  Stetson  stood,  the  mountains 
racing  along  each  bank  of  the  Cumberland  had  sent 
out  against  each  other,  by  mutual  impulse,  two  great 
spurs.  At  the  river's  brink  they  stopped  sheer,  with 
crests  uplifted,  as  though  some  hand  at  the  last 
moment  had  hurled  them  apart,  and  had  led  the 
water  through  the  breach  to  keep  them  at  peace. 
To-day  the  crags  look  seamed  by  thwarted  passion ; 
and,  sullen  with  firs,  they  made  symbols  of  the 
human  hate  about  the  base  of  each. 

When  the  feud  began,  no  one  knew.  Even  the 
original  cause  was  forgotten.  Both  families  had  come 
as  friends  from  Virginia  long  ago,  and  had  lived  as 
enemies  nearly  half  a  century.  There  was  hostility 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  97 

before  the  war,  but,  until  then,  little  bloodshed. 
Through  the  hatred  of  change  characteristic  of  the 
mountaineer  the  world  over,  the  Lewallens  were  for 
the  Union.  The  Stetsons  owned  a  few  slaves,  and 
they  fought  for  them.  Peace  found  both  still  neigh 
bors  and  worse  foes.  The  war  armed  them,  and 
brought  back  an  ancestral  contempt  for  human  life  ; 
it  left  them  a  heritage  of  lawlessness  that  for  mutual 
protection  made  necessary  the  very  means  used  by 
their  feudal  forefathers  ;  personal  hatred  supplanted 
its  dead  issues,  and  with  them  the  war  went  on.  The 
Stetsons  had  a  good  strain  of  Anglo-Saxon  blood, 
and  owned  valley-lands ;  the  Lewallens  kept  store, 
and  made  "  moonshine  "  ;  so  kindred  and  debtors 
and  kindred  and  tenants  were  arrayed  with  one  or 
the  other  leader,  and  gradually  the  retainers  of  both 
settled  on  one  or  the  other  side  of  the  river.  In  time 
of  hostility  the  Cumberland  came  to  be  the  boundary 
between  life  and  death  for  the  dwellers  on  each  shore. 
It  was  feudalism  born  again. 

Above  one  of  the  spurs  each  family  had  its  home : 
the  Stetsons,  under  the  seared  face  of  Thunderstruck 
Knob  ;  the  Lewallens,  just  beneath  the  wooded  rim 
of  Wolf's  Head.  The  eaves  and  chimney  of  each 
cabin  were  faintly  visible  from  the  porch  of  the 
other.  The  first  light  touched  the  house  of  the 
Stetsons ;  the  last,  the  Lewallen  cabin.  So  there 
were  times  when  the  one  could  not  turn  to  the  sun 
rise  nor  the  other  to  the  sunset  but  with  a  curse  in 
his  heart ;  for  his  eye  must  fall  on  the  home  of  his 
enemy. 

For  years  there  had  been  peace.  The  death  of 
Rome  Stetson's  father  from  ambush,  and  the  fight  in 


98  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

the  court-house  square,  had  forced  it.  After  that  fight 
only  four  were  left — old  Jasper  Lewallen,  and  young 
Jasper,  the  boy  Rome,  and  his  uncle,  Rufe  Stetson. 
Then  Rufe  fled  to  the  West,  and  the  Stetsons  were 
helpless.  For  three  years  no  word  was  heard  of  him, 
but  the  hatred  burned  in  the  heart  of  Rome's  mother, 
and  was  traced  deep  in  her  grim  old  face  while  she 
patiently  waited  the  day  of  retribution.  It  smoul 
dered,  too,  in  the  hearts  of  the  women  of  both  clans 
who  had  lost  husbands  or  sons  or  lovers  ;  and  the 
friends  and  kin  of  each  had  little  to  do  with  one  an 
other,  and  met  and  passed  with  watchful  eyes.  In 
deed,  it  would  take  so  little  to  turn  peace  to  war  that 
the  wonder  was  that  peace  had  lived  so  long.  Now 
trouble  was  at  hand.  Rufe  Stetson  had  come  back 
at  last,  a  few  months  since,  and  had  quietly  opened 
store  at  the  county-seat,  Hazlan — a  little  town  five 
miles  up  the  river,  where  Troubled  Fork  runs  seeth 
ing  into  the  Cumberland — a  point  of  neutrality  for 
the  factions,  and  consequently  a  battle-ground.  Old 
Jasper's  store  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  town,  and 
the  old  man  had  never  been  known  to  brook  com 
petition.  He  had  driven  three  men  from  Hazlan 
during  the  last  term  of  peace  for  this  offence,  and 
everybody  knew  that  the  fourth  must  leave  or  fight. 
Already  Rufe  Stetson  had  been  warned  not  to  ap 
pear  outside  his  door  after  dusk.  Once  or  twice 
his  wife  had  seen  skulking  shadows  under  the  trees 
across  the  road,  and  a  tremor  of  anticipation  ran 
along  both  banks  of  the  Cumberland. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 


III 


A  FORTNIGHT  later  court  came.  Rome  was  going 
to  Hazlan,  and  the  feeble  old  Stetson  mother  limped 
across  the  porch  from  the  kitchen,  trailing  a  Win 
chester  behind  her.  Usually  he  went  unarmed,  but 
he  took  the  gun  now,  as  she  gave  it,  in  silence. 

The  boy  Isom  was  not  well,  and  Rome  had  told 
him  to  ride  the  horse.  But  the  lad  had  gone  on 
afoot  to  his  duties  at  old  Gabe  Bunch's  mill,  and 
Rome  himself  rode  down  Thunderstruck  Knob 
through  the  mist  and  dew  of  the  early  morning. 
The  sun  was  coming  up  over  Virginia,  and  through 
a  dip  in  Black  Mountain  the  foot  -  hills  beyond 
washed  in  blue  waves  against  its  white  disk.  A 
little  way  down  the  mountain,  the  rays  shot  through 
the  gap  upon  him,  and,  lancing  the  mist  into  tatters, 
and  lighting  the  dew-drops,  set  the  birds  singing. 
Rome  rode,  heedless  of  it  all,  under  primeval  oak 
and  poplar,  and  along  rain-clear  brooks  and  happy 
water-falls,  shut  in  by  laurel  and  rhododendron,  and 
singing  past  mossy  stones  and  lacelike  ferns  that 
brushed  his  stirrup.  On  the  brow  of  every  cliff  he 
would  stop  to  look  over  the  trees  and  the  river  to 
the  other  shore,  where  the  gray  line  of  a  path  ran 
aslant  Wolfs  Head,  and  was  lost  in  woods  above  and 
below. 

At  the  river  he  rode  up-stream,  looking  still  across 
it.  Old  Gabe  Bunch  hallooed  to  him  from  the  door 
way  of  the  mill,  as  he  splashed  through  the  creek, 
and  Isom's  thin  face  peered  through  a  breach  in  the 
logs.  At  the  ford  beyond,  he  checked  his  horse  with 


100  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

a  short  oath  of  pleased  surprise.  Across  the  water  a 
scarlet  dress  was  moving  slowly  past  a  brown  field  of 
corn.  The  figure  was  bonneted,  but  he  knew  the 
girl's  walk  and  the  poise  of  her  head  that  far  away. 
Just  who  she  was,  however,  he  did  not  know,  and  he 
sat  irresolute.  He  had  seen  her  first  a  month  since, 
paddling  along  the  other  shore,  erect,  and  with  bon 
net  off  and  hair  down  ;  she  had  taken  the  Lewallen 
path  up  the  mountain.  Afterwards  he  saw  her  going 
at  a  gallop  on  young  Jasper's  gray  horse,  bare-headed 
again,  and  with  her  hair  loose  to  the  wind,  and  he 
knew  she  was  one  of  his  enemies.  He  thought  her 
the  girl  people  said  young  Jasper  was  going  to  mar 
ry,  and  he  had  watched  her  the  more  closely.  From 
the  canoe  she  seemed  never  to  notice  him  ;  but  he 
guessed,  from  the  quickened  sweep  of  her  paddle, 
that  she  knew  he  was  looking  at  her,  and  once, 
when  he  halted  on  his  way  home  up  the  mountain, 
she  half  turned  in  her  saddle  and  looked  across  at 
him.  This  happened  again,  and  then  she  waved  her 
bonnet  at  him.  It  was  bad  enough,  any  Stetson  seek 
ing  any  Lewallen  for  a  wife,  and  for  him  to  court 
young  Jasper's  sweetheart — it  was  a  thought  to  laugh 
at.  But  the  mischief  was  done.  The  gesture  thrilled 
him,  whether  it  meant  defiance  or  good-will,  and  the 
mere  deviltry  of  such  a  courtship  made  him  long  for 
it  at  every  sight  of  her  with  the  river  between  them. 
At  once  he  began  to  plan  how  he  should  get  near  her, 
but  through  some  freak  she  had  paid  no  further  heed 
to  him.  He  saw  her  less  often — for  a  week,  indeed, 
he  had  not  seen  her  at  all  till  this  day  —  and  the 
forces  that  hindrance  generates  in  an  imperious  nat 
ure  had  been  at  work  within  him.  The  chance  now 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  101 

was  one  of  gold,  and  with  his  life  in  his  hand  he 
turned  into  the  stream.  Across,  he  could  see  some 
thing  white  on  her  shoulder — an  empty  bag.  It  was 
grinding -day,  and  she  was  going  to  the  mill — the 
Lewallen  mill.  She  stopped  as  he  galloped  up,  and 
turned,  pushing  back  her  bonnet  with  one  hand  ;  and 
he  drew  rein.  But  the  friendly,  expectant  light  in 
her  face  kindled  to  such  a  blaze  of  anger  in  her  eyes 
that  he  struck  his  horse  violently,  as  though  the  beast 
had  stopped  of  its  own  accord,  and,  cursing  himself, 
kept  on.  A  little  farther,  he  halted  again.  Three 
horsemen,  armed  with  Winchesters,  were  jogging 
along  towards  town  ahead  of  him,  and  he  wheeled 
about  sharply.  The  girl,  climbing  rapidly  towards 
Steve  Bray  ton's  cabin,  was  out  of  the  way,  but  he 
was  too  late  to  reach  the  ford  again.  Down  the  road 
two  more  Lewallens  with  guns  were  in  sight,  and  he 
lashed  his  horse  into  the  stream  where  the  water  was 
deep.  Old  Gabe,  looking  from  the  door  of  his  mill, 
quit  laughing  to  himself  ;  and  under  cover  of  the 
woods  the  girl  watched  man  and  horse  fighting  the 
tide.  Twice  young  Stetson  turned  his  head.  But 
his  enemies  apparently  had  not  seen  him,  and  horse 
and  rider  scrambled  up  the  steep  bank  and  under 
shelter  of  the  trees.  The  girl  had  evidently  learned 
who  he  was.  Her  sudden  anger  was  significant,  as 
was  the  sight  of  the  Lewallens  going  armed  to  court, 
and  Rome  rode  on,  uneasy. 

When  he  reached  Troubled  Fork,  in  sight  of  Haz- 
lan,  he  threw  a  cartridge  into  place,  and  shifted  the 
slide  to  see  that  it  was  ready  for  use.  Passing  old 
Jasper's  store  on  the  edge  of  town,  he  saw  the  old 
man's  bushy  head  through  the  open  door,  and  Le- 


102  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

wallens  and  Braytons  crowded  out  on  the  steps  and 
looked  after  him.  All  were  armed.  Twenty  paces 
farther  he  met  young  Jasper  on  his  gray,  and  the 
look  on  his  enemy's  face  made  him  grip  his  rifle. 
With  a  flashing  cross-fire  from  eye  to  eye,  the  two 
passed,  each  with  his  thumb  on  the  hammer  of  his 
Winchester.  The  groups  on  the  court-house  steps 
stopped  talking  as  he  rode  by,  and  turned  to  look  at 
him.  He  saw  none  of  his  own  friends,  and  he  went 
on  at  a  gallop  to  Rufe  Stetson's  store.  His  uncle  was 
not  in  sight.  Steve  Marcum  and  old  Sam  Day  stood 
in  the  porch,  and  inside  a  woman  was  crying.  Sever 
al  Stetsons  were  near,  and  all  with  grave  faces  gath 
ered  about  him. 

He  knew  what  the  matter  was  before  Steve  spoke. 
His  uncle  had  been  driven  from  town.  A  last  warn 
ing  had  come  to  him  on  the  day  before.  The  hand 
of  a  friend  was  in  the  caution,  and  Rufe  rode  away 
at  dusk.  That  night  his  house  was  searched  by  men 
masked  and  armed.  The  Lewallens  were  in  town,  and 
were  ready  to  fight.  The  crisis  had  come. 


IV 

BACK  at  the  mill  old  Gabe  was  troubled.  Usually 
he  sat  in  a  cane-bottomed  chair  near  the  hopper,  whit 
tling,  while  the  lad  tended  the  mill,  and  took  pay  in 
an  oaken  toll-dish  smooth  with  the  use  of  half  a  cen 
tury.  But  the  incident  across  the  river  that  morn 
ing  had  made  the  old  man  uneasy,  and  he  moved 
restlessly  from  his  chair  to  the  door,  and  back 
again,  while  the  boy  watched  him,  wondering  what 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  103 

the  matter  was,  but  asking  no  questions.  At  noon 
an  old  mountaineer  rode  by,  and  the  miller  hailed 
him. 

"  Any  news  in  town  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Hain't  been  to  town.  Reckon  fightin'  's  goin' 
on  thar  from  whut  I  heerd."  The  careless,  high- 
pitched  answer  brought  the  boy  with  wide  eyes  to 
the  door. 

"Whut  d'ye  hear?"  asked  Gabe. 

"  Jes  heerd  fightin'  's  goin'  on  !" 

Then  every  man  who  came  for  his  meal  brought  a 
wild  rumor  from  town,  and  the  old  miller  moved  his 
chair  to  the  door,  and  sat  there  whittling  fast,  and 
looking  anxiously  towards  Hazlan.  The  boy  was  in 
a  fever  of  unrest,  and  old  Gabe  could  hardly  keep 
him  in  the  mill.  In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the 
report  of  a  rifle  came  down  the  river,  breaking  into 
echoes  against  the  cliffs  below,  and  Isom  ran  out  the 
door,  and  stood  listening  for  another,  with  an  odd 
contradiction  of  fear  and  delight  on  his  eager  face. 
In  a  few  moments  Rome  Stetson  galloped  into  sight, 
and,  with  shrill  cry  of  relief,  the  boy  ran  down  the 
road  to  meet  him,  and  ran  back,  holding  by  a  stirrup. 
Young  Stetson's  face  was  black  with  passion,  and  his 
eyes  were  heavy  with  drink.  At  the  door  of  the 
mill  he  swung  from  his  horse,  and  for  a  moment  was 
hardly  able  to  speak  from  rage.  There  had  been  no 
fight.  The  Stetsons  were  few  and  unprepared.  They 
had  neither  the  guns  nor,  without  Rufe,  the  means  to 
open  the  war,  and  they  believed  Rufe  had  gone  for 
arms.  So  they  had  chafed  in  the  store  all  day,  and 
all  day  Lewallens  on  horseback  and  on  foot  were  in 
sight ;  and  each  was  a  taunt  to  every  Stetson,  and,  few 


104  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

as  they  were,  the  young  and  hot-headed  wanted  to 
go  out  and  fight.  In  the  afternoon  a  tale-bearer  had 
brought  some  of  Jasper's  boasts  to  Rome,  and,  made 
reckless  by  moonshine  and  much  brooding,  he  sprang 
up  to  lead  them.  Steve  too  caught  up  his  gun,  but 
old  Sam's  counsel  checked  him,  and  the  two  by  force 
held  Rome  back.  A  little  later  the  Lewallens  left 
town.  The  Stetsons  too  disbanded,  and  on  the  way 
home  a  last  drop  of  gall  ran  Rome's  cup  of  bitter 
ness  over.  Opposite  Steve  Brayton's  cabin  a  jet  of 
smoke  puffed  from  the  bushes  across  the  river,  and  a 
bullet  furrowed  the  road  in  front  of  him.  That  was 
the  shot  they  had  heard  at  the  mill.  Somebody  was 
drawing  a  "  dead-line,"  and  Rome  wheeled  his  horse 
at  the  brink  of  it.  A  mocking  yell  came  over  the 
river,  and  a  gray  horse  flashed  past  an  open  space  in 
the  bushes.  Rome  knew  the  horse  and  knew  the 
yell ;  young  Jasper  was  "  bantering  "  him.  Nothing 
maddens  the  mountaineer  like  this  childish  method 
of  insult ;  and  telling  of  it,  Rome  sat  in  a  corner,  and 
loosed  a  torrent  of  curses  against  young  Lewallen  and 
his  clan. 

Old  Gabe  had  listened  without  a  word,  and  the 
strain  in  his  face  was  eased.  Always  the  old  man 
had  stood  for  peace.  He  believed  it  had  come  after 
the  court-house  fight,  and  he  had  hoped  against  hope, 
even  when  Rufe  came  back  to  trade  against  old  Jas 
per  ;  for  Rufe  was  big  and  good-natured,  and  unsus 
pected  of  resolute  purpose,  and  the  Lewallens'  power 
had  weakened.  So,  now  that  Rufe  was  gone  again, 
the  old  miller  half  believed  he  was  gone  for  good. 
Nobody  was  hurt ;  there  was  a  chance  yet  for  peace, 
and  with  a  rebuke  on  his  tongue  and  relief  in  his 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  105 

face,  the  old  man  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  went  on 
whittling.  The  boy  turned  eagerly  to  a  crevice  in 
the  logs  and,  trembling  with  excitement,  searched  the 
other  bank  for  Jasper's  gray  horse,  going  home. 

"  He  called  me  a  idgit,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
threatening  shake  of  his  head.  "  Jes  wouldn't  /  like 
to  hev  a  chance  at  him  !  Rome  ull  git  him  !  Rome 
ull  git  him  !" 

There  was  no  moving  point  of  white  on  the  broad 
face  of  the  mountains  nor  along  the  river  road.  Jas 
per  was  yet  to  come  and,  with  ears  alert  to  every 
word  behind  him,  the  lad  fixed  his  eyes  where  he 
should  see  him  first. 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  mean  to  hit  me.  Not  that  he  ain't 
mean  enough  to  shoot  from  the  bresh,"  Rome  broke 
out,  savagely.  "  That's  jes  whut  I'm  afeard  he  will 
do.  Thar  was  too  much  daylight  fer  him.  Ef  he 
jes  don't  come  a-sneakin'  over  hyeh,  'n'  waitin'  in  the 
lorrel  atter  dark  fer  me,  it's  all  I  ax." 

"  Waitin'  in  the  lorrel  !"  Old  Gabe  could  hold  back 
no  longer.  "  Hit's  a  shame,  a  burnin'  shame !  I  don' 
know  whut  things  air  comin'  to  !  'Pears  like  all  you 
young  folks  think  about  is  killin'  somebody.  Folks 
usen  to  talk  about  how  fer  they  could  kill  a  deer ; 
now  it's  how  fer  they  kin  kill  a  man.  I  hev  knowed 
the  time  when  a  man  would  'a'  been  druv  out  o'  the 
county  fer  drawin'  a  knife  ur  a  pistol ;  'n'  ef  a  feller 
was  ever  killed,  it  was  kinder  accidental,  by  a  Bar 
low.  I  reckon  folks  got  use7  to  weepons  'n'  killin'  'n' 
bushwhackin'  in  the  war.  Looks  like  it's  been  gittin' 
wuss  ever  sence,  'n'  now  hit's  dirk  'n'  Winchester,  'n' 
shootin'  from  the  bushes  all  the  time.  Hit's  wuss  'n 
stealin'  money  to  take  a  feller-creetur's  life  that  way !" 


106  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

The  old  miller's  indignation  sprang  from  memo 
ries  of  a  better  youth.  For  the  courtesies  of  the  code 
went  on  to  the  Blue  Grass,  and  before  the  war  the 
mountaineer  fought  with  English  fairness  and  his 
fists.  It  was  a  disgrace  to  use  a  deadly  weapon  in 
those  days ;  it  was  a  disgrace  now  not  to  use  it. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  the  excuses  folks  make,"  he  went 
on  :  "  hit's  fa'r  fer  one  as  'tis  fer  t'  other ;  ye  can't 
fight  a  man  fa'r  'n'  squar'  who'll  shoot  you  in  the 
back ;  a  pore  man  can't  fight  money  in  the  counts  ; 
'n'  thar  hain't  no  witnesses  in  the  lorrel  but  leaves  ; 
'n'  dead  men  don't  hev  much  to  say.  I  know  it 
all.  Hit's  cur'us,  but  it  act'ally  looks  like  lots  o' 
decent  young  folks  hev  got  usen  to  the  idee — 
thar's  so  much  of  it  goin'  on,  'n'  thar's  so  much 
talk  'bout  killin'  'n'  layin'  out  in  the  lorrel.  Reck 
on  folks  '11  git  to  pesterin'  women  'n'  strangers 
bimeby,  'n'  robbin'  'n'  thievin'.  Hit's  bad  enough 
thar's  so  leetle  law  thet  folks  hev  to  take  it  in  their 
own  hands  oncet  in  a  while,  but  this  shootin'  from 
the  bresh — hit's  p'int'ly  a  sin  'n'  shame  !  Why,"  he 
concluded,  pointing  his  remonstrance  as  he  always 
did,  "  I  seed  your  grandad  and  young  Jas's  fight  up 
thar  in  Hazlan  full  two  hours  'fore  the  war — fist  and 
skull — 'n'  your  grandad  was  whooped.  They  got  up 
and  shuk  hands.  I  don't  see  why  folks  can't  fight 
that  way  now.  I  wish  Rufe  'n'  old  Jas  'n'  you  'n' 
young  Jas  could  have  it  out  fist  and  skull,  'n'  stop 
this  killin'  o'  people  like  hogs.  Thar's  nobody  left 
but  you  four.  But  thar's  no  chance  o'  that,  I  reck 
on." 

"  I'll  fight  him  anyway,  'n'  I  reckon  ef  he  don't  die 
till  /  lay  out  in  the  lorrel  fer  him,  he'll  live  a  long 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  1QY 

time.  Ef  a  Stetson  ever  done  sich  meanness  as  that 
I  never  heerd  it." 

"  Nother  hev  I,"  said  the  old  man,  with  quick  jus 
tice.  "  You  air  a  overbearin'  race,  all  o'  ye,  but  I 
never  knowed  ye  to  be  that  mean.  Hit's  all  the 
wuss  fer  ye  thet  ye  air  in  sech  doin's.  I  tell  ye, 
Rome—" 

A  faint  cry  rose  above  the  drone  of  the  millstones, 
and  old  Gabe  stopped  with  open  lips  to  listen.  The 
boy's  face  was  pressed  close  to  the  logs.  A  wet 
paddle  had  flashed  into  the  sunlight  from  out  the 
bushes  across  the  river.  He  could  just  see  a  canoe 
in  the  shadows  under  them,  and  with  quick  suspi 
cion  his  brain  pictured  Jasper's  horse  hitched  in  the 
bushes,  and  Jasper  stealing  across  the  river  to  way 
lay  Rome.  But  the  canoe  moved  slowly  out  of  sight 
down-stream  and  towards  the  deep  water,  the  pad- 
dler  unseen,  and  the  boy  looked  around  with  a  weak 
smile.  Neither  seemed  to  have  heard  him.  Rome 
was  brooding,  with  his  sullen  face  in  his  hands ;  the 
old  miller  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts :  and  the 
boy  turned  again  to  his  watch. 

Jasper  did  not  come.  Isom's  eyes  began  to  ache 
from  the  steady  gaze,  and  now  and  then  he  would 
drop  them  to  the  water  swirling  beneath.  A  slow 
wind  swayed  the  overhanging  branches  at  the  mouth 
of  the  stream,  and  under  them  was  an  eddy.  Es 
caping  this,  the  froth  and  bubbles  raced  out  to  the 
gleams  beating  the  air  from  the  sunlit  river.  He 
saw  one  tiny  fleet  caught;  a  mass  of  yellow  scum 
bore  down  and,  sweeping  through  bubbles  and  eddy, 
was  itself  struck  into  fragments  by  something  afloat. 
A  tremulous  shadow  shot  through  a  space  of  sun- 


108  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

light  into  the  gloom  cast  by  a  thicket  of  rhododen 
drons,  and  the  boy  caught  his  breath  sharply.  A 
moment  more,  and  the  shape  of  a  boat  and  a  human 
figure  quivered  on  the  water  running  under  him. 
The  stern  of  a  Lewallen  canoe  swung  into  the  basin, 
and  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Rome  !"  The  cry  cut  sharply  through  the  drow 
sy  air.  "Thar  he  is  !  Hit's  Jas  !" 

The  old  miller  rose  to  his  feet.  The  boy  threw 
himself  behind  the  sacks  of  grain.  Rome  wheeled 
for  his  rifle,  and  stood  rigid  before  the  door.  There 
was  a  light  step  without,  the  click  of  a  gun-lock  with 
in  ;  a  shadow  fell  across  the  doorway,  and  a  girl  stood 
at  the  threshold  with  an  empty  bag  in  her  hand. 


WITH  a  little  cry  she  shrank  back  a  step.  Her 
face  paled  and  her  lips  trembled,  and  for  a  moment 
she  could  not  speak.  But  her  eyes  swept  the  group, 
and  were  fixed  in  two  points  of  fire  on  Rome. 

"Why  don't  ye  shoot?"  she  asked,  scornfully. 
"  I  hev  heerd  that  the  Stetsons  have  got  to  makin' 
war  on  women-folks,  but  I  never  believed  it  afore." 
Then  she  turned  to  the  miller. 

"  Kin  I  git  some  more  meal  hyeh  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Or  have  ye  stopped  sellin'  to  folks  on  t'  other  side  ?" 
she  added,  in  a  tone  that  sought  no  favor. 

"You  kin  have  all  ye  want,"  said  old  Gabe, 
quietly. 

"  The  mill  on  Dead  Crick  is  broke  ag'in,"  she 
continued,  "  'n  co'n  is  skeerce  on  our  side.  We'll 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  1Q9 

have  to  begin  buyin'  purty  soon,  so  I  thought  I'd 
save  totin'  the  co'n  down  hyeh."  She  handed  old 
Gabe  the  empty  bag. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  as  it  air  gittin'  late,  V  ye  have 
to  climb  the  mountain  ag'in,  I'll  let  ye  have  that 
comin'  out  o'  the  hopper  now.  Take  a  cheer." 

The  girl  sat  down  in  the  low  chair,  and,  loosening 
the  strings  of  her  bonnet,  pushed  it  back  from  her 
head.  An  old-fashioned  horn  comb  dropped  to  the 
floor,  and  when  she  stooped  to  pick  it  up  she  let  her 
hair  fall  in  a  heap  about  her  shoulders.  Thrusting 
one  hand  under  it,  she  calmly  tossed  the  whole  mass 
of  chestnut  and  gold  over  the  back  of  the  chair, 
where  it  fell  rippling  like  water  through  a  bar  of 
sunlight.  With  head  thrown  back  and  throat  bared, 
she  shook  it  from  side  to  side,  and,  slowly  coiling  it, 
pierced  it  with  the  coarse  comb.  Then  passing  her 
hands  across  her  forehead  and  temples,  as  women  do, 
she  folded  them  in  her  lap,  and  sat  motionless.  The 
boy,  crouched  near,  held  upon  her  the  mesmeric  look 
of  a  serpent.  Old  Gabe  was  peering  covertly  from 
under  the  brim  of  his  hat,  with  a  chuckle  at  his  lips. 
Rome  had  fallen  back  to  a  corner  of  the  mill,  sobered, 
speechless,  his  rifle  in  a  nerveless  hand.  The  passion 
that  fired  him  at  the  boy's  warning  had  as  swiftly 
gone  down  at  sight  of  the  girl,  and  her  cutting  re 
buke  made  him  hot  again  with  shame.  He  was  an 
gry,  too — more  than  angry^ — because  he  felt  so  help 
less,  a  sensation  that  was  new  and  stifling.  The 
scorn  of  her  fac«,  as  he  remembered  it  that  morning, 
hurt  him  again  while  he  looked  at  her.  A  spirit  of 
contempt  was  still  in  her  eyes,  and  quivering  about 
her  thin  lips  and  nostrils.  She  had  put  him  beneath 


110  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

further  notice,  and  yet  every  toss  of  her  head,  every 
movement  of  her  hands,  seemed  meant  for  him,  to 
irritate  him.  And  once,  while  she  combed  her  hair, 
his  brain  whirled  with  an  impulse  to  catch  the  shin 
ing  stuff  in  one  hand  and  to  pinion  both  her  wrists 
with  the  other,  just  to  show  her  that  he  was  master, 
and  still  would  harm  her  not  at  all.  But  he  shut 
his  teeth,  and  watched  her.  Among  mountain  women 
the  girl  was  more  than  pretty  ;  elsewhere  only  her 
hair,  perhaps,  would  have  caught  the  casual  eye.  She 
wore  red  homespun  and  coarse  shoes ;  her  hands 
were  brown  and  hardened.  Her  arms  and  shoulders 
looked  muscular,  her  waist  was  rather  large — being 
as  nature  meant  it  —  and  her  face  in  repose  had  a 
heavy  look.  But  the  poise  of  her  head  suggested 
native  pride  and  dignity ;  her  eyes  were  deep,  and 
full  of  changing  lights ;  the  scarlet  dress,  loose  as  it 
was,  showed  rich  curves  in  her  figure,  and  her  move 
ments  had  a  certain  childlike  grace.  Her  brow  was 
low,  and  her  mouth  had  character ;  the  chin  was  firm, 
the  upper  lip  short,  and  the  teeth  were  even  and 
white. 

"  I  reckon  thar's  enough  to  fill  the  sack,  Isom," 
said  the  old  miller,  breaking  the  strained  silence  of 
the  group.  The  girl  rose  and  handed  him  a  few 
pieces  of  silver. 

"  I  reckon  I'd  better  pay  fer  it  all,"  she  said.  "  I 
s'pose  I  won't  be  over  hyeh  agin." 

Old  Gabe  gave  some  of  the  coins  back. 

"  Y'u  know  whut  my  price  al'ays  is,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  obleeged,"  answered  the  girl,  flushing.  "  Co'n 
hev  riz  on  our  side.  I  thought  mebbe  you  charged 
folks  over  thar  more,  anyways." 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  m 

"  I  sells  fer  the  same,  ef  co'n  is  high  ur  low,"  was 
the  answer.  "  This  side  or  t'  other  makes  no  diff'unce 
to  me.  I  hev  frien's  on  both  sides,  V  I  take  no  part 
in  sech  doin's  as  air  a  shame  to  the  mountains." 

There  was  a  quick  light  of  protest  in  the  girl's 
dark  eyes ;  but  the  old  miller  was  honored  by  both 
factions,  and  without  a  word  she  turned  to  the  boy, 
who  was  tyi-ng  the  sack. 

"  The  boat's  loose  !"  he  called  out,  with  the  string 
between  his  teeth ;  and  she  turned  again  and  ran 
out.  Rome  stood  still. 

"  Kerry  the  sack  out,  boy,  V  holp  the  gal."  Old 
Gabe's  voice  was  stern,  and  the  young  mountaineer 
doggedly  swung  the  bag  to  his  shoulders.  The  girl 
had  caught  the  rope,  and  drawn  the  rude  dugout 
along  the  shore. 

"  Who  axed  ye  to  do  that  ?"  she  asked,  angrily. 

Rome  dropped  the  bag  into  the  boat,  and  merely 
looked  her  in  the  face. 

"Look  hyeh,  Rome  Stetson"  —  the  sound  of  his 
name  from  her  lips  almost  startled  him— -"  I'll  hev 
ye  understan'  that  I  don't  want  to  be  bounden  to 
you,  nor  none  o'  yer  kin." 

Turning,  she  gave  an  impatient  sweep  with  her 
paddle.  The  prow  of  the  canoe  dipped  and  was 
motionless.  Rome  had  caught  the  stern,  and  the 
girl  wheeled  in  hot  anger.  Her  impulse  to  strike 
may  have  been  for  the  moment  and  no  longer,  or 
she  may  have  read  swiftly  no  unkindness  in  the 
mountaineer's  steady  look ;  for  the  uplifted  oar  was 
stayed  in  the  air,  as  though  at  least  she  would  hear 
him. 

"I've  got  nothin'   ag'in'  you"  he   said,  slowly. 


112  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

"  Jas  Lewallen  liev  been  threatenin1  me,  V  I  thought 
it  was  him,  V  I  was  ready  fer  him,  when  you  come 
into  the  mill.  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  nur  no  other 
woman.  Y'u  ought  to  know  it,  V  ye  do  know  it." 

The  words  were  masterful,  but  said  in  a  way  that 
vaguely  soothed  the  girl's  pride,  and  the  oar  was  let 
slowly  into  the  water. 

"  I  reckon  y'u  air  a  friend  o'  his,"  he  added,  still 
quietly.  "  I've  seed  ye  goin'  up  thar,  but  I've  got 
nothin'  ag'in'  ye,  whoever  ye  be." 

She  turned  on  him  a  sharp  look  of  suspicion.  "  I 
reckon  I  do  be  a  friend  o'  hisn,"  she  said,  deliber 
ately  ;  and  then  she  saw  that  he  was  in  earnest.  A 
queer  little  smile  went  like  a  ray  of  light  from  her 
eyes  to  her  lips,  and  she  gave  a  quick  stroke  with 
her  paddle.  The  boat  shot  into  the  current,  and  was 
carried  swiftly  towards  the  Cumberland.  The  girl 
stood  erect,  swaying  through  light  and  shadow  like 
a  great  scarlet  flower  blowing  in  the  wind  ;  and  Rome 
watched  her  till  she  touched  the  other  bank.  Swing 
ing  the  sack  out,  she  stepped  lightly  after  it,  and, 
without  looking  behind  her,  disappeared  in  the 
bushes. 

The  boy  Isom  was  riding  away  when  Rome  turned, 
and  old  Gabe  was  watching  from  the  door  of  the  mill. 

"  Who  is  that  gal  ?"  he  asked,  slowly.  It  seemed 
somehow  that  he  had  known  her  a  long  while  ago. 
A  puzzled  frown  overlay  his  face,  and  the  old  miller 
laughed. 

"  You  a-axin'  who  she  be,  V  she  a-axin'  who  you 
be,  V  both  o'  ye  a-knowin'  one  'nother  sence  ye  was 
knee-high.  Why,  boy,  hit's  old  Jasper's  gal— Mar- 
thv  !" 


A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA  113 


VI 

IN  a  flash  of  memory  Rome  saw  the  girl  as  vividly 
as  when  he  last  saw  her  years  ago.  They  had  met 
at  the  mill,  he  with  his  father,  she  with  hers.  There 
was  a  quarrel,  and  the  two  men  were  held  apart. 
But  the  old  sore  as  usual  was  opened,  and  a  week 
later  Rome's  father  was  killed  from  the  brush.  He 
remembered  his  mother's  rage  and  grief,  her  calls 
for  vengeance,  the  uprising,  the  fights,  plots,  and 
ambushes.  He  remembered  the  look  the  girl  had 
given  him  that  long  ago,  and  her  look  that  day  was 
little  changed. 

When  fighting  began,  she  had  been  sent  for  safety 
to  the  sister  of  her  dead  mother  in  another  county. 
When  peace  came,  old  Jasper  married  again  and  the 
girl  refused  to  come  home.  Lately  the  step-mother 
too  had  passed  away,  and  then  she  came  back  to  live. 
All  this  the  old  miller  told  in  answer  to  Rome's  ques 
tions  as  the  two  walked  away  in  the  twilight.  This 
was  why  he  had  not  recognized  her,  and  why  her 
face  yet  seemed  familiar  even  when  he  crossed  the 
river  that  morning. 

"  Uncle  Gabe,  how  do  you  reckon  the  gal  knowed 
who  I  was  ?" 

"  She  axed  me." 

"  She  axed  you  !     Whar  ?" 

"  Over  thar  in  the  mill."  The  miller  was  watch 
ing  the  young  mountaineer  closely.  The  manner  of 
the  girl  was  significant  when  she  asked  who  Rome 
was,  and  the  miller  knew  but  one  reason  possible  for 
his  foolhardiness  that  morning. 


114  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  she  have  been  over  hyeh 
afore  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  come  to  think  about  it,  three  or  four 
times  while  Isom  was  sick ;  and  whut  she  come  fer 
I  can't  make  out.  The  mill  over  thar  wasn't  broke 
long,  V  why  she  didn't  go  thar  or  bring  more  co'n 
at  a  time,  to  save  her  the  trouble  o'  so  many  trips,  I 
can't  see  to  save  me." 

Young  Stetson  was  listening  eagerly.  Again  the 
miller  cast  his  bait. 

"  Mebbe  she's  spyin'." 

Rome  faced  him,  alert  with  suspicion ;  but  old 
Gabe  was  laughing  silently. 

"  Don't  you  be  a  fool,  Rome.  The  gal  comes  and 
goes  in  that  boat,  V  she  couldn't  see  a  soul  without 
my  knowin'  it.  She  seed  ye  ridin'  by  one  day,  V 
she  looked  mighty  cur'us  when  I  tole  her  who  ye 
was." 

Old  Gabe  stopped  his  teasing,  Rome's  face  was  so 
troubled,  and  himself  grew  serious. 

"  Rome,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  I  wish  to  the  good 
Lord  ye  wasn't  in  sech  doin's.  Ef  that  had  been 
young  Jas  'stid  o'  Marthy,  I  reckon  ye  would  'a' 
killed  him  right  thar." 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  let  him  kill  me,"  was  the  sul 
len  answer. 

The  two  had  stopped  at  a  rickety  gate  swinging 
open  on  the  road.  The  young  mountaineer  was 
pushing  a  stone  about  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 
He  had  never  before  listened  to  remonstrance  with 
such  patience,  and  old  Gabe  grew  bold. 

"  You've  been  drinkin'  ag'in,  Rome,"  he  said, 
sharply,  "  V  I  know  it.  Hit's  been  moonshine  that's 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  115 

whooped  you  Stetsons,  not  the  Lewallens,  long  as  I 
kin  rickollect,  V  it  ull  be  moonshine  ag'in  ef  ye  don't 
let  it  alone." 

Rome  made  no  denial,  no  defence.  "  Uncle  Gabe," 
he  said,  slowly,  still  busied  with  the  stone,  "  hev  that 
gal  been  over  hyeh  sence  y'u  tol'  her  who  I  was !" 

The  old  man  was  waiting  for  the  pledge  that 
seemed  on  his  lips,  but  he  did  not  lose  his  temper. 

"  Not  till  to-day,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Rome  turned  abruptly,  and  the  two  separated 
with  no  word  of  parting.  For  a  moment  the  miller 
watched  the  young  fellow  striding  away  under  his 
rifle. 

"  I  have  been  atter  peace  a  good  while,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  but  I  reckon  thar's  a  bigger  hand 
a-workin'  now  than  mine."  Then  he  lifted  his  voice. 
"  Ef  Isom's  too  sick  to  come  down  to  the  mill  to- 
morrer,  I  wish  you'd  come  V  holp  me." 

Rome  nodded  back  over  his  shoulder,  and  went 
on,  with  head  bent,  along  the  river  road.  Passing 
a  clump  of  pines  at  the  next  curve,  he  pulled  a  bot 
tle  from  his  pocket. 

"Uncle  Gabe's  about  right,  I  reckon,"  he  said, 
half  aloud ;  and  he  raised  it  above  his  head  to  hurl 
it  away,  but  checked  it  in  mid-air.  For  a  moment 
he  looked  at  the  colorless  liquid,  then,  with  quick 
nervousness,  pulled  the  cork  of  sassafras  leaves, 
gulped  down  the  pale  moonshine,  and  dashed  the 
bottle  against  the  trunk  of  a  beech.  The  fiery  stuff 
does  its  work  in  a  hurry.  He  was  thirsty  when  he 
reached  the  mouth  of  a  brook  that  tumbled  down 
the  mountain  along  the  pathway  that  would  lead  him 
home,  and  he  stooped  to  drink  where  the  water  spar- 


116  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

kled  in  a  rift  of  dim  light  from  overhead.  Then  he 
sat  upright  on  a  stone,  with  his  wide  hat-brim  curved 
in  a  crescent  over  his  forehead,  his  hands  caught 
about  his  knees,  and  his  eyes  on  the  empty  air. 

He  was  scarcely  over  his  surprise  that  the  girl 
was  young  Lewallen's  sister,  and  the  discovery  had 
wrought  a  curious  change.  The  piquant  impulse  of 
rivalry  was  gone,  and  something  deeper  was  taking 
its  place.  He  was  confused  and  a  good  deal  troubled, 
thinking  it  all  over.  He  tried  to  make  out  what  the 
girl  meant  by  looking  at  him  from  the  mountain 
side,  by  waving  her  bonnet  at  him,  and  by^  coming 
to  old  Gabe's  mill  when  she  could  have  gone  to  her 
own.  To  be  sure,  she  did  not  know  then  who  he 
was,  and  she  had  stopped  coming  when  she  learned ; 
but  why  had  she  crossed  again  that  day  ?  Perhaps 
she  too  was  bantering  him,  and  he  was  at  once  angry 
and  drawn  to  her ;  for  her  mettlesome  spirit  touched 
his  own  love  of  daring,  even  when  his  humiliation 
was  most  bitter — when  she  told  him  he  warred  on 
women ;  when  he  held  out  to  her  the  branch  of  peace 
and  she  swept  it  aside  with  a  stroke  of  her  oar.  But 
Rome  was  little  conscious  of  the  weight  of  subtle 
facts  like  these.  His  unseeing  eyes  went  back  to  her 
as  she  combed  her  hair.  He  saw  the  color  in  her 
cheeks,  the  quick  light  in  her  eyes,  the  naked,  full 
throat  once  more,  and  the  wavering  forces  of  his 
unsteady  brain  centred  in  a  stubborn  resolution — 
to  see  it  all  again.  He  would  make  Isom  stay  at 
home,  if  need  be,  and  he  would  take  the  boy's  place 
at  the  mill.  If  she  came  there  no  more,  he  would 
cross  the  river  again.  Come  peace  or  war,  be  she 
friend  or  enemy,  he  would  see  her.  His  thirst  was 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  117 

fierce  again,  and,  with  this  half-drunken  determina 
tion  in  his  heart,  he  stooped  once  more  to  drink 
from  the  cheerful  little  stream.  As  he  rose,  a  loud 
curse  smote  the  air.  The  river,  pressed  between  two 
projecting  cliffs,  was  narrow  at  that  point,  and  the 
oath  came  across  the  water.  An  instant  later  a  man 
led  a  lamed  horse  from  behind  a  bowlder,  and  stooped 
to  examine  its  leg.  The  dusk  was  thickening,  but 
Rome  knew  the  huge  frame  and  gray  beard  of  old 
Jasper  Lewallen.  The  blood  beat  in  a  sudden  tide 
at  his  temples,  and,  half  by  instinct,  he  knelt  behind 
a  rock,  and,  thrusting  his  rifle  through  a  crevice, 
cocked  it  softly. 

Again  the  curse  of  impatience  came  over  the  still 
water,  and  old  Jasper  rose  and  turned  towards  him. 
The  glistening  sight  caught  in  the  centre  of  his 
beard.  That  would  take  him  in  the  throat ;  it  might 
miss,  and  he  let  the  sight  fall  till  the  bullet  would  cut 
the  fringe  of  gray  hair  into  the  heart.  Old  Jasper,  so 
people  said,  had  killed  his  father  in  just  this  way ; 
he  had  driven  his  uncle  from  the  mountains  ;  he  was 
trying  now  to  revive  the  feud.  He  was  the  father 
of  young  Jasper,  who  had  threatened  his  life,  and 
the  father  of  the  girl  whose  contempt  had  cut  him 
to  the  quick  twice  that  day.  Again  her  taunt 
leaped  through  his  heated  brain,  and  his  boast  to 
the  old  miller  followed  it.  His  finger  trembled  at 
the  trigger. 

"  No ;  by ,  no  !"  he  breathed  between  his  teeth ; 

and  old  Jasper  passed  on,  unharmed. 


118  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 


VII 

NEXT  day  the  news  of  Rufe  Stetson's  flight  went 
down  the  river  on  the  wind,  and  before  nightfall  the 
spirit  of  murder  was  loosed  on  both  shores  of  the 
Cumberland.  The  more  cautious  warned  old  Jas 
per.  The  Stetsons  were  gaining  strength  again,  they 
said ;  so  were  their  feudsmen,  the  Marcums,  enemies 
of  the  Braytons,  old  Jasper's  kinspeople.  Keeping 
store,  Rufe  had  made  money  in  the  West,  and  money 
and  friends  right  and  left  through  the  mountains. 
With  all  his  good-nature,  he  was  a  persistent  hater, 
and  he  was  shrewd.  He  had  waited  the  chance  to 
put  himself  on  the  side  of  the  law,  and  now  the  law 
was  with  him.  But  old  Jasper  laughed  contemptu 
ously.  Rufe  Stetson  was  gone  again,  he  said,  as  he 
had  gone  before,  and  this  time  for  good.  Rufe  had 
tried  to  do  what  nobody  had  done,  or  could  do,  while 
he  was  alive.  Anyway,  he  was  reckless,  and  he  cared 
little  if  war  did  come  again.  Still,  the  old  man  pre 
pared  for  a  fight,  and  Steve  Marcum  on  the  other 
shore  made  ready  for  Rufe's  return. 

It  was  like  the  breaking  of  peace  in  feudal  days. 
The  close  kin  of  each  leader  were  already  about  him, 
and  now  the  close  friends  of  each  took  sides.  Each 
leader  trading  in  Hazlan  had  debtors  scattered 
through  the  mountains,  and  these  rallied  to  aid 
the  man  who  had  befriended  them.  There  was  no 
grudge  but  served  a  pretext  for  partisanship  in  the 
coming  war.  Political  rivalry  had  wedged  apart 
two  strong  families,  the  Marcums  and  Braytons ;  a 
boundary  line  in  dispute  was  a  chain  of  bitterness; 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  H9 

a  suit  in  a  country  court  had  sown  seeds  of  hatred. 
Sometimes  it  was  a  horse-trade,  a  fence  left  down, 
or  a  gate  left  open,  and  the  trespassing  of  cattle ;  in 
one  instance,  through  spite,  a  neighbor  had  docked 
the  tail  of  a  neighbor's  horse — had  "  muled  his  crit 
ter,"  as  the  owner  phrased  the  outrage.  There  was 
no  old  sore  that  was  not  opened  by  the  crafty  lead 
ers,  no  slumbering  bitterness  that  they  did  not  wake 
to  life.  "  Help  us  to  revenge,  and  we  will  help  you," 
was  the  whispered  promise.  So,  had  one  man  a 
grudge  against  another,  he  could  set  his  foot  on  one 
or  the  other  shore,  sure  that  his  enemy  would  be 
fighting  for  the  other. 

Others  there  were,  friends  of  neither  leader,  who, 
under  stress  of  poverty  or  hatred  of  work,  would 
fight  with  either  for  food  and  clothes ;  and  others 
still,  the  ne'er-do-wells  and  outlaws,  who  fought  by 
the  day  or  month  for  hire.  Even  these  were  secured 
by  one  or  the  other  faction,  for  Steve  and  old  Jasper 
left  no  resource  untried,  knowing  well  that  the  fight, 
if  there  was  one,  would  be  fought  to  a  quick  and 
decisive  end.  The  day  for  the  leisurely  feud,  for 
patient  planning,  and  the  slow  picking  off  of  men 
from  one  side  or  the  other,  was  gone.  The  people 
in  the  Blue  Grass,  who  had  no  feuds  in  their  own 
country,  were  trying  to  stop  them  in  the  mountain. 
Over  in  Breathitt,  as  everybody  knew,  soldiers  had 
come  from  the  "  settlements,"  had  arrested  the  lead 
ers,  and  had  taken  them  to  the  Blue  Grass  for  the 
feared  and  hated  ordeal  of  trial  by  a  jury  of  "  bigot 
ed  furriners."  On  the  heels  of  the  soldiers  came  a 
young  preacher  up  from  the  Jellico  hills,  half  "  citi 
zen,"  half  "furriner,"  with  long  black  hair  and  a 


120  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

scar  across  his  forehead,  who  was  stirring  up  the 
people,  it  was  said,  "as  though  Satan  was  atter 
them."  Over  there  the  spirit  of  the  feud  was  broken, 
and  a  good  effect  was  already  perceptible  around 
Hazlan.  In  past  days  every  pair  of  lips  was  sealed 
with  fear,  and  the  non-combatants  left  crops  and 
homes,  and  moved  down  the  river,  when  trouble 
began.  Now  only  the  timid  considered  this  way  of 
escape.  Steve  and  old  Jasper  found  a  few  men  who 
refused  to  enter  the  fight.  Several,  indeed,  talked 
openly  against  the  renewal  of  the  feud,  and  some 
body,  it  was  said,  had  dared  to  hint  that  he  would 
send  to  the  Governor  for  aid  if  it  should  break  out 
again.  But  these  were  rumors  touching  few  people. 

For  once  again,  as  time  and  time  again  before,  one 
bank  of  the  Cumberland  was  arrayed  with  mortal 
enmity  against  the  other,  and  old  Gabe  sat,  with 
shaken  faith,  in  the  door  of  his  mill.  For  years  he 
had  worked  and  prayed  for  peace,  and  for  a  little 
while  the  Almighty  seemed  lending  aid.  Now  the 
friendly  grasp  was  loosening,  and  yet  the  miller  did 
all  he  could.  He  begged  Steve  Marcum  to  urge  Rufe 
to  seek  aid  from  the  law  when  the  latter  came  back ; 
and  Steve  laughed,  and  asked  what  justice  was  possi 
ble  for  a  Stetson,  with  a  Lewallen  for  a  judge  and 
Braytons  for  a  jury.  The  miller  pleaded  with  old 
Jasper,  and  old  Jasper  pointed  to  the  successes  of 
his  own  life. 

"  I  hev  triumphed  ag'in'  my  enemies  time  V 
ag'in,"  he  said.  "  The  Lord  air  on  my  side,  'n'  I 
gits  a  better  Christian  ever'  year."  The  old  man 
spoke  with  the  sincerity  of  a  barbarism  that  has  sur 
vived  the  dark  ages,  and,  holding  the  same  faith,  the 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  121 

miller  had  no  answer.  It  was  old  Gabe  indeed  who 
had  threatened  to  send  to  the  Governor  for  soldiers, 
and  this  he  would  have  done,  perhaps,  had  there  not 
been  one  hope  left,  and  only  one.  A  week  had  gone, 
and  there  was  no  word  from  Rufe  Stetson.  Up  on 
Thunderstruck  Knob,  the  old  Stetson  mother  was 
growing  pitiably  eager  and  restless.  Every  day  she 
slipped  like  a  ghost  through  the  leafless  woods  and 
in  and  out  the  cabin,  kindling  hatred.  At  every 
dawn  or  dusk  she  was  on  her  porch  peering  through 
the  dim  light  for  Rufe  Stetson.  Steve  Marcum  was 
ill  at  ease.  Rome  Stetson  alone  seemed  unconcerned, 
and  his  name  was  on  every  gossiping  tongue. 

He  took  little  interest  and  no  hand  in  getting 
ready  for  the  war.  He  forbade  the  firing  of  a  gun 
till  Rufe  came  back,  else  Steve  should  fight  his  fight 
alone.  He  grew  sullen  and  morose.  His  old  mother's 
look  was  a  thorn  in  his  soul,  and  he  stayed  little  at 
home.  He  hung  about  the  mill,  and  when  Isom  be 
came  bedfast,  the  big  mountaineer,  who  had  never 
handled  anything  but  a  horse,  a  plough,  or  a  rifle, 
settled  himself,  to  the  bewilderment  of  the  Stetsons, 
into  the  boy's  duties,  and  nobody  dared  question 
him.  Even  old  Gabe  jested  no  longer.  The  matter 
was  too  serious. 

Meanwhile  the  winter  threw  off  the  last  slumbrous 
mood  of  autumn,  as  a  sleeper  starts  from  a  dream. 
A  fortnight  was  gone,  and  still  no  message  came 
from  the  absent  leader.  One  shore  was  restive,  un 
easy  ;  the  other  confident,  mocking.  Between  the 
two,  Rome  Stetson  waited  his  chance  at  the  mill. 


122  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 


VIII 

DAY  was  whitening  on  the  Stetson  shore.  Across 
the  river  the  air  was  still  sharp  with  the  chill  of 
dawn,  and  the  mists  lay  like  flocks  of  sheep  under 
shelter  of  rock  and  crag.  A  peculiar  cry  radiated 
from  the  Lewallen  cabin  with  singular  resonance  on 
the  crisp  air — the  mountain  cry  for  straying  cattle. 
A  soft  low  came  from  a  distant  patch  of  laurel,  and 
old  Jasper's  girl,  Martha,  folded  her  hands  like  a 
conch  at  her  mouth,  and  the  shrill  cry  again  startled 
the  air. 

"  Ye  better  come,  ye  pieded  cow-brute."  Picking 
up  a  cedar  piggin,  she  stepped  from  the  porch 
towards  the  meek  voice  that  had  answered  her. 
Temper  and  exertion  had  brought  the  quick  blood 
to  her  face.  Her  head  was  bare,  her  thick  hair  was 
loosely  coiled,  and  her  brown  arms  were  naked 
almost  to  the  shoulder.  At  the  stable  a  young 
mountaineer  was  overhauling  his  riding-gear. 

"  Air  you  goin'  to  ride  the  hoss  to-day,  Jas  ?"  she 
asked,  querulously. 

"  That's  jes  whut  I  was  aimin'  to  do.  I'm  a-goin' 
to  town." 

"  Well,  I  'lowed  I  was  goin'  to  mill  to-day.  The 
co'n  is  'mos'  gone." 

"Well,  y'u  'lowed  wrong,"  he  answered,  imper- 
turbably. 

"Yu're  mean,  Jas  Lewallen,"  she  cried,  hotly; 
"  that's  whut  ye  air,  mean — dog-mean  !" 

The  young  mountaineer  looked  up,  whistled  softly, 
and  laughed.  But  when  he  brought  his  horse  to  the 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  ]23 

door  an  hour  later  there  was  a  bag  of  corn  across  the 
saddle. 

"As  ye  air  so  powerful  sot  on  goin'  to  mill, 
whether  or  no,  I'll  leave  this  hyeh  sack  at  the  bend 
o'  the  road,  V  ye  kin  git  it  thar.  I'll  bring  the 
meal  back  ef  ye  puts  it  in  the  same  place.  I  hates  to 
see  women-folks  a-ridin'  this  hoss.  Hit  spiles  him." 

The  horse  was  a  dapple-gray  of  unusual  beauty, 
and  as  the  girl  reached  out  her  hand  to  stroke  his 
throat,  he  turned  to  nibble  at  her  arm. 

"  I  reckon  he'd  jes  as  lieve  have  me  ride  him  as 
you,  Jas,"  she  said.  "  Me  V  him  have  got  to  be 
great  friends.  Ye  orter  n't  to  be  so  stingy." 

"  Well,  he  ain't  no  hoss  to  be  left  out  'n  the  bresh 
now,  'n'  I  hain't  goin'  to  'low  it." 

Old  Jasper  had  lounged  out  of  the  kitchen  door, 
and  stood  with  his  huge  bulk  against  a  shrinking 
pillar  of  the  porch.  The  two  men  were  much  alike. 
Both  had  the  same  black,  threatening  brows  meeting 
over  the  bridge  of  the  nose.  A  kind  of  grim  humor 
lurked  about  the  old  man's  mouth,  which  time  might 
trace  about  young  Jasper's.  The  girl's  face  had  no 
humor ;  the  same  square  brows,  apart  and  clearly 
marked,  gave  it  a  strong,  serious  cast,  and  while  she 
had  the  Lewallen  fire,  she  favored  her  mother  enough, 
so  the  neighbors  said,  "  to  have  a  mighty  mild,  takin' 
way  about  her  ef  she  wanted." 

"You're  right,  Jas,"  the  old  mountaineer  said; 
"  the  hoss  air  a  sin  'n'  temptation.  Hit  do  me  good 
ever'  time  I  look  at  him.  Thar  air  no  sich  hoss,  1 
tell  ye,  this  side  o'  the  settlements." 

The  boy  started  away,  and  the  old  man  followed, 
and  halted  him  out  of  the  girl's  hearing. 


124  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

"  Tell  Eli  Crump  V  Jim  Stover  to  watch  the 
Breathitt  road  close  now,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"See  all  them  citizens  I  tol'  ye,  'n'  tell  'em  to  be 
ready  when  I  says  the  word.  Thar's  no  tellin'  whut's 
goin'  to  happen." 

Young  Jasper  nodded  his  head,  and  struck  his 
horse  into  a  gallop.  The  old  man  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  turned  back  to  the  house.  The  girl,  bonnet  in 
hand,  was  starting  for  the  valley. 

"  Thar  ain't  no  use  goin'  to  Gabe  Bunch's  fer  yer 
grist,"  he  said.  "  The  mill  on  Dead  Crick's  a-runnin' 
ag'in,  'n'  I  don't  want  ye  over  thar  axin'  favors, 
specially  jes  now." 

"  I  lef  somethin'  fer  yc  to  eat,  dad,"  she  replied, 
"  ef  ye  gits  hongry  before  I  git  back." 

"  You  heerd  me  ?"  he  called  after  her,  knitting  his 
brows. 

"  Yes,  dad ;  I  heerd  ye,"  she  answered,  adding  to 
herself,  "  But  I  don't  heed  ye."  In  truth,  the  girl 
heeded  nobody.  It  was  not  her  way  to  ask  consent, 
even  her  own,  nor  to  follow  advice.  At  the  bend  of 
the  road  she  found  the  bag,  and  for  an  instant  she 
stood  wavering.  An  impulse  turned  her  to  the  river, 
and  she  loosed  the  boat,  and  headed  it  across  the 
swift,  shallow  water  from  the  ford  and  straight 
towards  the  mill.  At  every  stroke  of  her  paddle 
the  water  rose  above  the  prow  of  the  boat,  and, 
blown  into  spray,  flew  J>ack  and  drenched  her ;  the 
wind  loosed  her  hair,  and,  tugging  at  her  skirts, 
draped  her  like  a  statue;  and  she  fought  them, 
wind  and  water,  with  mouth  set  and  a  smile  in  her 
eyes.  One  sharp  struggle  still,  where  the  creek 
leaped  into  freedom ;  the  mouth  grew  a  little  firmer, 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  125 

the  eyes  laughed  more,  the  keel  grated  on  pebbles, 
and  the  boat  ran  its  nose  into  the  withered  sedge  on 
the  Stetson  shore. 

A  tall  gray  figure  was  pouring  grain  into  the 
hopper  when  she  reached  the  door  of  the  mill.  She 
stopped  abruptly,  Rome  Stetson  turned,  and  again 
the  two  were  face  to  face.  No  greeting  passed. 
The  girl  lifted  her  head  with  a  little  toss  that 
deepened  the  set  look  about  the  mountaineer's 
mouth ;  her  lax  figure  grew  tense  as  though  strung 
suddenly  against  some  coming  harm,  and  her  eyes 
searched  the  shadows  without  once  resting  on  him. 

"  Whar's  Uncle  Gabe  ?"  She  spoke  shortly,  and 
as  to  a  stranger. 

"  Gone  to  town,"  said  Rome,  composedly.  He 
had  schooled  himself  for  this  meeting. 

"  When's  he  comin'  back  ?" 

"  Not  'fore  night,  I  reckon." 

"  Whar's  Isom  ?" 

"  Isom's  sick." 

"  Well,  who's  tendin'  this  mill  2" 

For  answer  he  tossed  the  empty  bag  into  the 
corner  and,  without  looking  at  her,  picked  up  an 
other  bag. 

"  I  reckon  ye  see  me,  don't  ye  ?"  he  asked,  coolly. 
"  Hev  a  cheer,  and  rest  a  spell.  Hit's  a  purty  long 
climb  whar  you  come  from." 

The  girl  was  confused.  She  stayed  in  the  door 
way,  a  little  helpless  and  suspicious.  What  was 
Rome  Stetson  doing  here  ?  His  mastery  of  the  situa 
tion,  his  easy  confidence,  puzzled  and  irritated  her. 
Should  she  leave  ?  The  mountaineer  was  a  Stetson, 
a  worm  to  tread  on  if  it  crawled  across  the  path.  It 


126  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

would  be  like  backing  down  before  an  enemy.  He 
might  laugh  at  her  after  she  was  gone,  and,  at  that 
thought,  she  sat  down  in  the  chair  with  composed 
face,  looking  through  the  door  at  the  tumbling  water, 
which  broke  with  a  thousand  tints  under  the  sun, 
but  able  still  to  see  Rome,  sidewise,  as  he  moved 
about  the  hopper,  whistling  softly. 

Once  she  looked  around,  fancying  she  saw  a 
smile  on  his  sober  face.  Their  eyes  came  near 
meeting,  and  she  turned  quite  away. 

"  Ever  seed  a  body  out'n  his  head  ?" 

The  girl's  eyes  rounded  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"Well,  it's  plumb  cur' us.  Isom's  been  that  way 
lately.  Isom's  sick,  ye  know.  Uncle  Gabe's  got 
the  rheumatiz,  V  Isom's  mighty  fond  o'  Uncle  Gabe, 
'n'  the  boy  pestered  me  till  I  come  down  to  he'p  him. 
Hit  p'int'ly  air  strange  to  hear  him  talldn'.  He's 
jes  a-ravin'  'bout  hell  'n'  heaven,  'n'  the  sin  o'  killin' 
folks.  You'd  ha'  thought  he  hed  been  convicted, 
though  none  o'  our  fambly  hev  been  much  atter 
religion.  He  says  as  how  the  wrath  uv  a  livin'  God 
is  a-goin  to  sweep  these  mount'ins,  ef  some  mighty 
tall  repentin'  hain't  done.  Of  co'se  he  got  all  them 
notions  from  Gabe.  But  Isom  al'ays  was  quar, 
V  seed  things  hisself.  He  ain't  no  fool !" 

The  girl  was  listening.  Morbidly  sensitive  to  the 
supernatural,  she  had  turned  towards  him,  and  her 
face  was  relaxed  with  fear  and  awe. 

"  He's  havin'  dreams  'n'  sich-like  now,  'n'  I  reckon 
thar's  nothing  he's  seed  or  heerd  that  he  don'  talk 
about.  He's  been  a-goin'  on  about  you,"  he  added, 
abruptly.  The  girl's  hands  gave  a  nervous  twitch. 
"  Oh,  he  don't  say  nothin'  ag'in'  ye.  I  reckon  he 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  127 

tuk  a  fancy  to  you.  Mam  was  plumb  distracted, 
not  knowin'  whar  he  had  seed  ye.  She  thought  it 
was  like  his  other  talk,  V  I  never  let  on — a-knowin' 
how  mam  was."  A  flush  rose  like  a  flame  from  the 
girl's  throat  to  her  hair.  "  But  hit's  this  war," 
Kome  went  on  in  an  unsteady  tone,  "  that  he  talks 
most  about,  V  I'm  sorry  myself  that  trouble's 
a-comin'."  He  dropped  all  pretence  now.  "  I've 
been  a-watchin'  fer  ye  over  thar  on  t'  other  shore  a 
good  deal  lately.  I  didn't  know  ye  at  fust,  Marthy  " 
— he  spoke  her  name  for  the  first  time — "  V  Gabe 
says  y'u  didn't  know  me.  I  remembered  ye,  though, 
V  I  want  to  tell  ye  now  what  I  tol'  ye  then  :  I've 
got  nothin'  ag'in'  you.  I  was  hopin'  ye  mought 
come  over  ag'in — hit  was  sorter  cur'us  that  y'u  was 
the  same  gal — the  same  gal — " 

His  self-control  left  him;  he  was  halting  in  speech, 
and  blundering  he  did  not  know  where.  Fumbling 
an  empty  bag  at  the  hopper,  he  had  not  dared  to 
look  at  the  girl  till  he  heard  her  move.  She  had 
risen,  and  was  picking  up  her  bag.  The  hard  antag 
onism  of  her  face  calmed  him  instantly. 

"  Hain't  ye  goin'  to  have  yer  grist  ground  ?" 

"  Not  hyeh,"  she  answered,  quickly. 

"Why,  gal — "  He  got  no  further.  Martha  was 
gone,  and  he  followed  her  to  the  bank,  bewildered. 

The  girl's  suspicion,  lulled  by  his  plausible  ex 
planation,  had  grown  sharp  again.  The  mountaineer 
knew  that  she  had  been  coming  there.  He  was  at 
the  mill  for  another  reason  than  to  take  the  boy's 
place ;  and  with  swift  intuition  she  saw  the  truth. 

He  got  angry  as  she  rowed  away — angry  with 
himself  that  he  had  let  her  go ;  and  the  same  half- 


128  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

tender,  half-brutal  impulse  seized  him  as  when  he 
saw  her  first.  This  time  he  yielded.  His  horse  was 
at  hand,  and  the  river  not  far  below  was  narrow. 
The  bridle-path  that  led  to  the  Lewallen  cabin 
swerved  at  one  place  to  a  cliff  overlooking  the  river, 
and  by  hard  riding  and  a  climb  of  a  few  hundred* 
feet  on  foot  he  could  overtake  her  half-way  up  the 
mountain  steep. 

The  plan  was  no  more  than  shaped  before  he  was 
in  the  saddle  and  galloping  down  the  river.  The  set 
of  his  face  changed  hardly  a  line  while  he  swam 
the  stream,  and,  drenched  to  the  waist,  scaled  the 
cliff.  When  he  reached  the  spot,  he  found  the 
prints  of  a  woman's  shoe  in  the  dust  of  the  path, 
going  down.  There  were  none  returning,  and  he 
had  not  long  to  wait.  A  scarlet  bit  of  color  soon 
flashed  through  the  gray  bushes  below  him.  The 
girl  was  without  her  bag  of  corn.  She  was  climb 
ing  slowly,  and  was  looking  at  the  ground  as  though 
in  deep  thought.  Reckless  as  she  was,  she  had 
come  to  realize  at  last  just  what  she  had  done.  She 
had  been  pleased  at  first,  as  would  have  been  any 
woman,  when  she  saw  the  big  mountaineer  watching 
her,  for  her  life  was  lonely.  She  had  waved  her 
bonnet  at  him  from  mere  mischief.  She  hardly 
knew  it  herself,  but  she  had  gone  across  the  river 
to  find  out  who  he  was.  She  had  shrunk  from  him 
as  from  a  snake  thereafter,  and  had  gone  no  more 
until  old  Jasper  had  sent  her  because  the  Lewallen 
mill  was  broken,  and  because  she  was  a  woman,  and 
would  be  safe  from  harm.  She  had  met  him  then 
when  she  could  not  help  herself.  But  now  she 
had  gone  of  her  own  accord.  She  had  given  this 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  129 

Stetson,  a  bitter  enemy,  a  chance  to  see  her,  to  talk 
with  her.  She  had  listened  to  him  ;  she  had  been 
on  the  point  of  letting  him  grind  her  corn.  And 
he  knew  how  often  she  had  gone  to  the  mill,  and 
he  could  not  know  that  she  had  ever  been  sent. 
Perhaps  he  thought  that  she  had  come  to  make 
overtures  of  peace,  friendship,  even  more.  The  sus 
picion  reddened  her  face  with  shame,  and  her  anger 
at  him  was  turned  upon  herself.  Why  she  had  gone 
again  that  day  she  hardly  knew.  But  if  there  was 
another  reason  than  simple  perversity,  it  was  the 
memory  of  Rome  Stetson's  face  when  he  caught  her 
boat  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  way  she  could  not  answer. 
The  anger  of  the  moment  came  with  every  thought 
of  the  incident  afterwards,  and  with  it  came  too 
this  memory  of  his  look,  which  made  her  at  once 
defiant  and  uneasy.  She  saw  him  now  only  when 
she  was  quite  close,  and,  startled,  she  stood  still ; 
his  stern  look  brought  her  the  same  disquiet,  but  she 
gave  no  sign  of  fear. 

"  Whut's  the  matter  with  ye  ?" 

The  question  was  too  abrupt,  too  savage,  and  the 
girl  looked  straight  at  him,  and  her  lips  tightened 
with  a  resolution  not  to  speak.  The  movement  put 
him  beyond  control. 

"Y'u  puts  hell  into  me,  Marthy  Lewallen ;  y'u 
puts  downright  hell  into  me."  The  words  came  be 
tween  gritted  teeth.  "  I  want  to  take  ye  up  V  throw 
ye  off  this  cliff  clean  into  the  river,  V  I  reckon  the 
next  minute  I'd  jump  off  atter  ye.  Y'u've  'witched  me, 
gal !  I  forgits  who  ye  air  V  who  I  be,  V  sometimes 
I  want  to  come  over  hyeh  'n'  kerry  ye  out'n  these 
mount'ins,  'n'  nuver  come  back.  You  know  vvhut 


130  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

I've  been  watchin'  the  river  fer  sence  the  fust  time  I 
seed  ye.  You  know  whut  I've  been  a-stayin'  at  the 
mill  fer,  V  Steve  mad  V  mam  a-jowerin' — V  a-look- 
in'  over  hyeh  fer  ye  night  V  day  !  Y'u  know  whut 
I've  jes  swum  over  hyeh  fer !  What's  the  matter  with 
ye?" 

Martha  was  not  looking  for  a  confession  like  this. 
It  took  away  her  shame  at  once,  and  the  passion  of 
it  thrilled  her,  and  left  her  trembling.  While  he 
spoke  her  lashes  drooped  quickly,  her  face  soft 
ened,  and  the  color  came  back  to  it.  She  began 
intertwining  her  fingers,  and  would  not  look  up  at 
him. 

"  Ef  y'u  hates  me  like  the  rest  uv  ye,  why  don't  ye 
say  it  right  out?  'N'  ef  ye  do  hate  me,  whut  hev 
you  been  lookin'  'cross  the  river  fer,  'n'  a-shakin'  yer 
bonnet  at  me,  'n'  paddlin'  to  Gabe's  fer  yer  grist, 
when  the  mill  on  Dead  Crick's  been  a-runnin',  'n'  I 
know  it  ?  You've  been  banterin'  me,  hev  ye  ?" — the 
blood  rose  to  his  eyes  again.  "  Ye  mustn't  fool 

with  me,  gal,  by ,  ye  mustn't.  Whut  hev  you 

been  goin'  over  thar  fer  ?"  He  even  took  a  threat 
ening  step  towards  her,  and,  with  a  helpless  gesture, 
stopped.  The  girl  was  a  little  frightened.  Indeed, 
she  smiled,  seeing  her  power  over  him :  she  seemed 
even  about  to  laugh  outright ;  but  the  smile  turned 
to  a  quick  look  of  alarm,  and  she  bent  her  head  sud 
denly  to  listen  to  something  below.  At  last  she  did 
speak.  "  Somebody's  comin' !"  she  said.  "  You'd 
better  git  out  o'  the  way,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly. 
"  Somebody's  comin',  I  tell  ye  !  Don't  ye  hear  ?" 

It  was  no  ruse  to  get  rid  of  him.  The  girl's  eyes 
were  dilating.  Something  was  coming  far  below. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  131 

Rome  could  catch  the  faint  beats  of  a  horse's  hoofs. 
He  was  unarmed,  and  he  knew  it  was  death  for  him 
to  be  seen  on  that  forbidden  mountain ;  but  he  was 
beyond  caution,  and  ready  to  welcome  any  vent  to  his 
passion,  and  he  merely  shook  his  head. 

"  Ef  it's  Satan  hisself,  I  hain't  goin'  to  run."  The 
hoof-beats  came  nearer.  The  rider  must  soon  see 
them  from  the  coil  below. 

"  Rome,  hit's  Jas  '  He's  got  his  rifle,  and  he'll 
kill  ye, 'n'  me  too!"  The  girl  was  white  with  dis 
tress.  She  had  called  him  by  his  name,  and  the  tone 
was  of  appeal,  not  anger.  The  black  look  passed 
from  his  face,  and  he  caught  her  by  the  shoulders 
with  rough  tenderness  ;  but  she  pushed  him  away, 
and  without  a  word  he  sprang  from  the  road  and 
let  himself  noiselessly  down  the  cliff.  The  hoof- 
beats  thundered  above  his  head,  and  young  Jasper's 
voice  hailed  Martha. 

"This  hyeh's  the  bigges'  meal  I  ever  straddled. 
Why  d'n't  ye  git  the  grist  ground?" 

For  a  moment  the  girl  did  not  answer,  and 
Rome  waited,  breathless.  "  Wasn't  the  mill  runnin'  ? 
Whyn't  ye  go  on  'cross  the  river  ?" 

"  That's  whut  I  did,"  said  the  girl,  quietly.  "  Uncle 
Gabe  wasn't  thar,  'n'  Rome  Stetson  was.  I  wouldn't 
'low  him  to  grin'  the  co'n,  'n'  so  I  toted  hit  back." 

"  Rome  Stetson  !"  The  voice  was  lost  in  a  volley 
of  oaths. 

The  two  passed  out  of  hearing,  and  Rome  went 
plunging  down  the  mountain,  swinging  recklessly 
from  one  little  tree  to  another,  and  wrenching  limbs 
from  their  sockets  out  of  pure  physical  ecstasy. 
When  he  reached  his  horse  he  sat  down,  breathing 


132  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

heavily,  on  a  bed  of  moss,  with  a  strange  new  yearn 
ing  in  his  heart.  If  peace  should  come  !  Why  not 
peace,  if  Rufe  should  not  come  back  ?  He  would  be 
the  leader  then,  and  without  him  there  could  be  no 
war.  Old  Jasper  had  killed  his  father.  He  was  too 
young  at  the  time  to  feel  poignant  sorrow  now, 
and  somehow  he  could  look  even  at  that  death  in  a 
fairer  way.  His  father  had  killed  old  Jasper's  broth 
er.  So  it  went  back :  a  Lewallen  killed  a  Stetson ; 
that  Stetson  had  killed  a  Lewallen,  until  one  end  of 
the  chain  of  deaths  was  lost,  and  the  first  fault  could 
not  be  placed,  though  each  clan  put  it  on  the  other. 
In  every  generation  there  had  been  compromises — pe 
riods  of  peace ;  why  not  now  ?  Old  Gabe  would 
gladly  help  him.  He  might  make  friends  with  young 
Jasper ;  he  might  even  end  the  feud.  And  then — 
he  and  Martha — why  not?  He  closed  his  eyes,  and 
for  one  radiant  moment  it  all  seemed  possible.  And 
then  a  gaunt  image  rose  in  the  dream,  and  only  the 
image  was  left.  It  was  the  figure  of  his  mother, 
stern  and  silent  through  the  years,  opening  her  grim 
lips  rarely  without  some  curse  against  the  Lewallen 
race.  He  remembered  she  had  smiled  for  the  first 
time  when  she  heard  of  the  new  trouble — the  flight  of 
his  uncle  and  the  hope  of  conflict.  She  had  turned 
to  him  with  her  eyes  on  fire  and  her  old  hands 
clinched.  She  had  said  nothing,  but  he  understood 
her  look.  And  now —  Good  God !  what  would 
she  think  and  say  if  she  could  know  what  he  had 
done  ?  His  whole  frame  twitched  at  the  thought, 
and,  with  a  nervous  spring  to  escape  it,  he  was  on 
his  feet,  and  starting  down  the  mountain. 

Close  to  the  river  he  heard  voices  below  him,  and 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  133 

he  turned  his  horse  quickly  aside  into  the  bushes. 
Two  women  who  had  been  washing  clothes  passed, 
carrying  white  bundles  home.  They  were  talking 
of  the  coming  feud. 

"  That  ar  young  Stetson  ain't  much  like  his  dad," 
said  one.  "  Young  Jas  has  been  a-darin'  V  a-ban- 
terin'  him,  V  he  won't  take  it  up.  They  say  he  air 
turnin'  out  a  plumb  coward." 

When  he  reached  the  Stetson  cabin  three  horses 
with  drooping  heads  were  hitched  to  the  fence. 
All  had  travelled  a  long  way.  One  wore  a  man's 
saddle  ;  on  the  others  were  thick  blankets  tied  to 
gether  with  leathern  thongs. 

In  the  dark  porch  sat  several  men.  Through  the 
kitchen  door  he  could  see  his  mother  getting  supper. 
Inside  a  dozen  rifles  leaned  against  the  wall  in  the 
firelight,  and  about  their  butts  was  a  pile  af  ammu 
nition.  In  the  doorway  stood  Rufe  Stetson. 


IX 

ALL  were  smoking  and  silent.  Several  spoke 
from  the  shadows  as  Rome  stepped  on  the  porch, 
and  Rufe  Stetson  faced  him  a  moment  in  the  door 
way,  and  laughed. 

"  Seem  kinder  s'prised  ?"  he  said,  with  a  search 
ing  look.  "  Wasn't  lookin'  for  me  ?  I  reckon  I'll 
s'prise  sev'ral  ef  I  hev  good-luck." 

The  subtlety  of  this  sent  a  chuckle  of  appreciation 
through  the  porch,  but  Rome  passed  in  without  an 
swer. 

Isom  lay  on  his  bed  within  the  circle  of  light,  and 


134:  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

his  face  in  the  brilliant  glow  was  white,  and  his  eyes 
shone  feverishly.  "  Rome,"  he  said,  excitedly,  "  Un 
cle  Rufe's  hyeh,  V  they  laywayed  him,  V— "  He 
paused  abruptly.  His  mother  came  in,  and  at  her 
call  the  mountaineers  trooped  through  the  covered 
porch,  and  sat  down  to  supper  in  the  kitchen.  They 
ate  hastily  and  in  silence,  the  mother  attending  their 
wants,  and  Rome  helping  her.  The  meal  finished, 
they  drew  their  chairs  about  the  fire.  Pipes  were 
lighted,  and  Rufe  Stetson  rose  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Thar's  no  use  harryin'  the  boy,"  he  said ;  "  I 
reckon  he'll  be  too  puny  to  take  a  hand." 

The  mother  stopped  clearing  the  table,  and  sat  on 
the  rock  hearth  close  to  the  fire,  her  withered  lips 
shut  tight  about  a  lighted  pipe,  and  her  sunken  eyes 
glowing  like  the  coal  of  fire  in  its  black  bowl.  Now 
and  then  she  would  stretch  her  knotted  hands  ner 
vously  into  the  flames  or  knit  them  about  her  knees, 
looking  closely  at  the  heavy  faces  about  her,  which 
had  lightened  a  little  with  expectancy.  Rufe  Stet 
son  stood  before  the  blaze>  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  and  his  huge  figure  bent  in  reflection.  At  in 
tervals  he  would  look  with  half-shut  eyes  at  Rome, 
who  sat  with  troubled  face  outside  the  firelight. 
Across  the  knees  of  Steve  Marcum,  the  best  marks 
man  in  the  mountains,  lay  the  barrel  of  a  new  Win 
chester.  Old  Sam  Day,  Rufe's  father-in-law  and 
counsellor  to  the  Stetsons  for  a  score  of  years,  sat 
as  if  asleep  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace  from 
the  old  mother,  with  his  big  square  head  pressed 
down  between  his  misshapen  shoulders. 

"The  time  hev  come,  Rome."  Rufe  spoke  be 
tween  the  puffs  of  his  pipe,  and  Rome's  heart  quick- 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  135 

ened,  for  every  eye  was  upon  him.  "  Thar's  goin' 
to  be  trouble  now.  I  hear  as  how  young  Jasper  hev 
been  talkin'  purty  tall  about  ye — 'lowin'  as  how  ye 
air  afeard  o'  him." 

Rome  felt  his  mother's  burning  look.  He  did  not 
turn  towards  her  nor  Rufe,  but  his  face  grew  sullen, 
and  his  voice  was  low  and  harsh.  "  I  reckon  he'll 
find  out  about  that  when  the  time  comes,"  he  said, 
quietly — too  quietly,  for  the  old  mother  stirred  un 
easily,  and  significant  glances  went  from  eye  to  eye. 
Rufe  did  not  look  up  from  the  floor.  He  had  been 
told  about  Rome's  peculiar  conduct,  and,  while  the 
reason  for  it  was  beyond  guessing,  he  knew  the  tem 
per  of  the  boy  and  how  to  kindle  it.  He  had  thrust 
a  thorn  in  a  tender  spot,  and  he  let  it  rankle.  How 
sorely  it  did  rankle  he  little  knew.  The  voice  of  the 
woman  across  the  river  was  still  in  Rome's  ears. 
Nothing  cuts  the  mountaineer  to  the  quick  like  the 
name  of  coward.  It  stung  him  like  the  lash  of  an  ox- 
whip  then  ;  it  smarted  all  the  way  across  the  river 
and  up  the  mountain.  Young  Jasper  had  been  charg 
ing  him  broadcast  with  cowardice,  and  Jasper's  peo 
ple  no  doubt  believed  it.  Perhaps  his  own  did — his 
uncle,  his  mother.  The  bare  chance  of  such  a  hu 
miliation  set  up  an  inward  rage.  He  wondered  how 
he  could  ever  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to  think  of 
peace.  The  woman's  gossip  had  swept  kindly  im 
pulses  from  his  heart  with  a  fresh  tide  of  bitter 
ness,  and,  helpless  now  against  its  current,  he  sul 
lenly  gave  way,  and  let  his  passions  loose  to  drift 
with  it. 

"  Whar  d'  ye  git  the  guns,  Rufe  ?"  Steve  was 
testing  the  action  of  the  Winchester  with  a  kind- 


136  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

ling  look,  as  the  click  of  the  locks  struck  softly 
through  the  silence. 

"  Jackson ;  'way  up  in  Breathitt,  at  the  eend  of 
the  new  road." 

"  No  wonder  y'u've  been  gone  so  long." 

"  I  had  to  wait  thar  fer  the  guns,  V  I  had  to  travel 
atter  dark  comin'  back,  V  lay  out'n  the  bresh-by 
day.  Hit's  full  eighty  mile  up  thar." 

"  Air  ye  shore  nobody  seed  ye  ?" 

The  question  was  from  a  Marcum,  who  had  come 
in  late,  and  several  laughed.  Rufe  threw  back  his 
dusty  coat,  which  was  ripped  through  the  lapel  by  a 
bullet. 

"They  seed  me  well  'nough  fer  that,"  he  said, 
grimly,  and  then  he  looked  towards  Rome,  who 
thought  of  old  Jasper,  and  gave  back  a  gleam  of 
fierce  sympathy.  There  were  several  nods  of  ap 
proval  along  with  the  laugh  that  followed.  It  was  a 
surprise — so  little  consideration  of  an  escape  so  nar 
row — from  Rufe ;  for,  as  old  Gabe  said,  Rufe  was 
big  and  good-natured,  and  was  not  thought  fit  for 
leadership.  But  there  was  a  change  in  him  when  he 
came  back  from  the  West.  He  was  quieter ;  he 
laughed  less.  No  one  spoke  of  the  difference ;  it 
was  too  vague ;  but  every  one  felt  it,  and  it  had  an 
effect.  His  flight  had  made  many  uneasy,  but  his 
return,  for  that  reason,  brought  a  stancher  fealty 
from  these ;  and  this  was  evident  now.  All  eyes 
were  upon  him,  and  all  tongues,  even  old  Sam's, 
waited  now  for  his  to  speak. 

"  What  we've  got  to  do,  we've  got  to  do  mighty 
quick,"  he  began,  at  last.  "  Things  air  changin'.  I 
seed  it  over  thar  in  Breathitt.  The  soldiers  V  that 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  137 

scar-faced  Jellico  preacher  hev  broke  up  the  fightin' 
over  thar,  'n'  ef  \ve  don't  watch  out,  they'll  be  a-doin' 
it  hyeh,  when  we  start  our  leetle  frolic.  We  hain't 
got  no  time  to  fool.  Old  Jas  knows  this  as  well  as 
me,  'n'  thar's  goin'  to  be  mighty  leetle  chance  fer 
'em  to  lay  way  'n'  pick  us  off  from  the  bresh.  Thar's 
goin'  to  be  fa'r  fightin'  fer  once,  thank  the  Lord. 
They  bushwhacked  us  durin'  the  war,  'n'  they've  lay- 
wayed  us  'n'  shot  us  to  pieces  ever  sence ;  but  now, 
ef  God  A'mighty's  willin',  the  thing  's  a-goin'  to  be 
settled  one  way  or  t'other  at  last,  I  reckon." 

He  stopped  a  moment  to  think.  The  men's  breath 
ing  could  be  heard,  so  quiet  was  the  room,  and  Rufe 
went  on  telling  in  detail,  slowly,  as  if  to  himself,  the 
wrongs  the  Lewallens  had  done  his  people.  When 
he  came  to  old  Jasper  his  voice  was  low,  and  his 
manner  was  quieter  than  ever. 

"  Now  old  Jas  have  got  to  the  p'int  whar  he  says 
as  how  nobody  in  this  county  kin  undersell  him  'n' 
stay  hyeh.  Old  Jas  druv  Bond  Vickers  out'n  the 
mount'ins  fer  tryin'  hit.  He  druv  Jess  Hale  away ; 
'n'  them  two  air  our  kin." 

The  big  mountaineer  turned  then,  and  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  His  eyes  grew  a  little 
brighter,  and  his  nostrils  spread,  but  with  a  sweep  of 
his  arm  he  added,  still  quietly : 

"  Y'  all  know  whut  he's  done." 

The  gesture  lighted  memories  of  personal  wrongs  in 
every  breast ;  he  had  tossed  a  firebrand  among  fagots, 
and  an  angry  light  began  to  burn  from  the  eyes  that 
watched  him. 

"  Ye  know,  too,  that  he  thinks  he  has  played  the 
same  game  with  me ;  but  ye  don't  know,  I  reckon, 


138  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

that  he  had  ole  Jim  Stover  V  that  mis'able  Eli 
Crump  a-hidin'  in  the  bushes  to  shoot  me  " — again 
he  grasped  the  torn  lapel ;  "  that  a  body  warned  me 
to  git  away  from  Hazlan ;  V  the  night  I  left  home 
they  come  thar  to  kill  me,  V  s'arched  the  house,  V 
skeered  Mollie  V  the  leetle  gal  'most  to  death." 

The  mountaineer's  self-control  was  lost  suddenly 
in  a  furious  oath.  The  men  did  know,  but  in  fresh 
anger  they  leaned  forward  in  their  chairs,  and  twisted 
about  with  smothered  curses.  The  old  woman  had 
stopped  smoking,  and  was  rocking  her  body  to  and 
fro.  Her  lips  were  drawn  in  upon  her  toothless 
gums,  and  her  pipe  was  clinched  against  her  sunken 
breast.  The  head  of  the  old  mountaineer  was  lifted, 
and  his  eyes  were  open  and  shining  fiercely. 

"  I  hear  as  how  he  says  I'm  gone  fer  good.  Well, 
I  have  been  kinder  easy  -  goin',  hatin'  to  fight,  but 
sence  the  day  I  seed  Rome's  dad  thar  dead  in  his 
blood,  I  hev  had  jes  one  thing  I  wanted  to  do.  Thar 
wasn't  no  use  stayin'  hyeh  ;  I  seed  that.  Rome  thar 
was  too  leetle,  and  they  was  too  many  fer  me.  I 
knowed  it  was  easier  to  git  a  new  start  out  West,  'n' 
when  I  come  back  to  the  mount'ins,  hit  was  to  do 
jes — whut — Tm — going — to — do — now"  He  wheeled 
suddenly  upon  Rome,  with  one  huge  hand  lifted. 
Under  it  the  old  woman's  voice  rose  in  a  sudden  wail : 

"  Yes ;  'n'  I  want  to  see  it  done  befoh  I  die.  I 
hain't  hyeh  fer  long,  but  I  hain't  goin'  to  leave  as 
long  as  ole  Jas  is  hyeh,  'n'  I  want  ye  all  to  know  it. 
Ole  Jas  hev  got  to  go  fust.  You  hear  me,  Rome  ? 
I'm  a-talkin'  to  you,  boy  ;  I'm  a-talkin'  to  you.  Hit's 
yo'  time  now  !" 

The  frenzied    chant  raised  Rome  from  his  chair. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  139 

Rufe  himself  took  up  the  spirit  of  it,  and  his  voice 
was  above  all  caution. 

"Yes,  Rome !  They  killed  him,  boy.  They  sneaked 
on  him,  V  shot  him  to  pieces  from  the  bushes. 
Yes  ;  hit's  yo'  time  now  !  Look  hyeh,  boys  !"  He 
reached  above  the  fireplace  and  took  down  an  old 
rifle — his  brother's — which  the  old  mother  had  suf 
fered  no  one  to  toucTi.  He  held  it  before  the  fire, 
pointing  to  two  crosses  made  near  the  flash -pan. 
"  Thar's  one  fer  ole  Jim  Lewallen!  Thar's  one  fer 
olc  Jas !  He  got  Jim,  but  ole  Jas  got  him,  V  thar's 
his  cross  thar  yit !  Whar's  yo>  gun,  Rome  ?  Shame 
on  ye,  boy !" 

The  wild-eyed  old  woman  was  before  him.  She 
had  divined  Rufe's  purpose,  and  was  already  at  his 
side,  with  Rome's  Winchester  in  one  hand  and  a 
clasp-knife  in  the  other.  Every  man  was  on  his 
feet ;  the  door  was  open,  and  the  boy  Isom  was  at 
the  threshold,  his  eyes  blazing  from  his  white  face. 
Rome  had  strode  forward. 

"  Yes,  boy ;  now's  the  time,  right  hyeh  before  us 
all !» 

The  mother  had  the  knife  outstretched.  Rome 
took  it,  and  the  scratch  of  the  point  on  the  hard 
steel  went  twice  through  the  stillness — "one  more  fer 
the  young  un  ;"  the  voice  was  the  old  mother's — 
then  twice  again. 

The  moon  was  sinking  when  Rome  stood  in  the 
door  alone.  The  tramp  of  horses  was  growing  fainter 
down  the  mountain.  The  trees  were  swaying  in  the 
wind  below  him,  and  he  could  just  see  the  gray  cliffs 
on  the  other  shore.  The  morning  seemed  far  away  j 
it  made  him  dizzy  looking  back  to  it  through  the 


140  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

tumult  of  the  day.  Somewhere  in  the  haze  was  the 
vision  of  a  girl's  white  face — white  with  distress  for 
him.  Her  father  and  her  brother  he  had  sworn  to 
kill.  He  had  made  a  cross  for  each,  and  each  cross 
was  an  oath.  He  closed  the  door ;  and  then  he  gave 
way,  and  sat  down  with  his  head  in  both  hands. 
The  noises  in  the  kitchen  ceased.  The  fire  died 
away,  and  the  chill  air  gathered  about  him.  When 
he  rose,  the  restless  eyes  of  the  boy  were  upon  him 
from  the  shadows. 


X 

IT  was  court-day  in  Hazlan,  but  so  early  in  the 
morning  nothing  was  astir  in  the  town  that  hinted 
of  its  life  on  such  a  day.  But  for  the  ring  of  a 
blacksmith's  anvil  on  the  quiet  air,  and  the  fact  that 
nowhere  was  a  church-spire  visible,  a  stranger  would 
have  thought  that  the  peace  of  Sabbath  overlay  a 
village  of  God-fearing  people.  A  burly  figure 
lounged  in  the  porch  of  a  rickety  house,  and  yawned 
under  a  swinging  sign,  the  rude  letters  of  which 
promised  "private  entertainment"  for  the  traveller 
unlucky  enough  to  pass  that  way.  In  the  one  long, 
narrow  main  street,  closely  flanked  by  log  and 
framed  houses,  nothing  else  human  was  in  sight. 
Out  from  this  street,  and  in  an  empty  square,  stood 
the  one  brick  building  in  the  place,  the  court-house, 
brick  without,  brick  within  ;  unfinished,  unpencilled, 
unpainted;  panes  out  of  the  windows,  a  shutter  off 
here  and  there,  or  swinging  drunkenly  on  one  hinge ; 
the  door  wide  open,  as  though  there  was  no  privacy 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  141 

within — a  poor  structure,  with  the  look  of  a  good 
man  gone  shiftless,  and  fast  going  wrong. 

Soon  two  or  three  lank  brown  figures  appeared 
from  each  direction  on  foot ;  then  a  horseman  or 
two,  and  by-and-by  mountaineers  came  in  groups,  on 
horse  and  on  foot.  In  time  the  side  alleys  and  the 
court-house  square  were  filled  with  horses  and  mules, 
and  even  steers.  The  mountaineers  crowded  the  nar 
row  street :  idling  from  side  to  side ;  squatting  for 
a  bargain  on  the  wooden  sidewalks ;  grouping  on  the 
porch  of  the  rickety  hotel,  and  on  the  court-house 
steps ;  loitering  in  and  out  of  the  one  store  in  sight. 
Out  in  the  street  several  stood  about  a  horse,  looking 
at  his  teeth,  holding  his  eyes  to  the  sun,  punching 
his  ribs,  twisting  his  tail ;  while  the  phlegmatic  own 
er  sat  astride  the  submissive  beast,  and  spoke  short 
answers  to  rare  questions.  Everybody  talked  poli 
tics,  the  crop  failure,  or  the  last  fight  at  the  seat  of 
some  private  war ;  but  nobody  spoke  of  a  Lewallen 
or  a  Stetson  unless  he  knew  his  listener's  heart,  and 
said  it  in  a  whisper.  For  nobody  knew  when  the 
powder  would  flash,  or  who  had  taken  sides,  or  that 
a  careless  word  might  not  array  him  with  one  or  the 
other  faction. 

A  motley  throng  it  was — in  brown  or  gray  home 
spun,  with  trousers  in  cowhide  boots,  and  slouched 
hats  with  brims  curved  according  to  temperament, 
but  with  striking  figures  in  it :  the  patriarch  with 
long,  white  hair,  shorn  even  with  the  base  of  the 
neck,  and  bearded  only  at  the  throat — a  justice  of 
the  peace,  and  the  sage  of  his  district;  a  little 
mountaineer  with  curling  black  hair  and  beard,  and 
dark,  fine  features  ;  a  grizzled  giant  with  a  head  rug- 


142  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

ged  enough  to  have  been  carelessly  chipped  from 
stone ;  a  bragging  candidate  claiming  everybody's 
notice ;  a  square-shouldered  fellow  surging  through 
the  crowd  like  a  stranger ;  an  open-faced,  devil-may- 
care  young  gallant  on  fire  with  moonshine ;  a  skulk 
ing  figure  with  brutish  mouth  and  shifting  eyes.  In 
deed,  every  figure  seemed  distinct ;  for,  living  apart 
from  his  neighbor,  and  troubling  the  law  but  little  in 
small  matters  of  dispute,  the  mountaineer  preserves 
independence,  and  keeps  the  edges  of  his  individu 
ality  unworn.  Apparently  there  was  not  a  woman 
in  town.  Those  that  lived  there  kept  housed,  and 
the  fact  was  significant.  Still,  it  was  close  to  noon, 
and  yet  not  a  Stetson  or  a  Lewallen  had  been  seen. 
The  stores  of  Rufe  and  old  Jasper  were  at  the  ex 
tremities  of  the  town,  and  the  crowd  did  not  move 
those  ways.  It  waited  in  the  centre,  and  whetted 
impatience  by  sly  trips  in  twos  and  threes  to  stables 
or  side  alleys  for  "  mountain  dew."  Now  and  then 
the  sheriff,  a  little  man  with  a  mighty  voice,  would 
appear  on  the  court-house  steps,  and  summon  a  wit 
ness  to  court,  where  a  frightened  judge  gave  instruc 
tions  to  a  frightened  jury.  But  few  went,  unless 
called  ;  for  the  interest  was  outside :  every  man  in 
the  streets  knew  that  a  storm  was  nigh,  and  was 
waiting  to  see  it  burst. 

Noon  passed.  A  hoarse  bell  and  a  whining  hound 
had  announced  dinner  in  the  hotel.  The  guests  were 
coming  again  into  the  streets.  Eyes  were  brighter, 
faces  a  little  more  flushed,  and  the  "  moonshine " 
was  passed  more  openly.  Both  ways  the  crowd 
watched  closely.  The  quiet  at  each  end  of  the  street 
was  ominous,  and  the  delay  could  last  but  little 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  143 

longer.  The  lookers  -  on  themselves  were  getting 
quarrelsome.  The  vent  must  come  soon,  or  amonp* 
them  there  would  be  trouble. 

"  Thar  comes  Jas  Lewallen  !"  At  last.  A  dozen 
voices  spoke  at  once.  A  horseman  had  appeared  far 
down  the  street  from  the  Lewallen  end.  The  clouds 
broke  from  about  the  sun,  and  a  dozen  men  knew 
the  horse  that  bore  him ;  for  the  gray  was  prancing 
the  street  sidewise,  and  throwing  the  sunlight  from 
his  flanks.  Nobody  followed,  and  the  crowd  was 
puzzled.  Young  Jasper  carried  a  Winchester  across 
his  saddle-bow,  and,  swaying  with  the  action  of  his 
horse,  came  on. 

"What  air  he  about?" 

"  He's  a  plumb  idgit." 

"  He  mus'  be  crazy." 

"  He's  drunk !" 

The  wonder  ceased.  Young  Jasper  was  reeling. 
Two  or  three  Stetsons  slipped  from  the  crowd,  and 
there  was  a  galloping  of  hoofs  the  other  way.  An 
other  horseman  appeared  from  the  Lewallen  end, 
riding  hastily.  The  new-comer's  errand  was  to  call 
Jasper  back.  But  the  young  dare-devil  was  close  to 
the  crowd,  and  was  swinging  a  bottle  over  his  head. 

"  Come  back  hyeh,  Jas  !  Come  hyeh  !"  The 
new-comer  was  shouting  afar  off  while  he  galloped. 
Horses  were  being  untethered  from  the  side  -  alleys. 
Several  more  Lewallen  riders  came  in  sight.  They 
could  see  the  gray  shining  in  the  sunlight  amid  the 
crowd,  and  the  man  sent  after  him  halted  at  a  safe 
distance,  gesticulating ;  and  they,  too,  spurred  for 
ward. 

"  Hello,  boys!"  young  Jasper  was  calling  out,  as 


144  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

he  swayed  from  side  to  side,  the  people  everywhere 
giving  him  way. 

"  Fun  to-day,  by  !  fun  to-day  !  Who'll  hev 

a  drink?  Hyeh's  hell  to  the  Stetsons,  whar  some 
of  'em  '11  be  'fore  night !" 

With  a  swagger  he  lifted  the  bottle  to  his  lips, 
and,  stopping  short,  let  it  fall  untouched  to  the 
ground.  He  had  straightened  in  his  saddle,  and  was 
looking  up  the  street.  With  a  deep  curse  he  threw 
the  Winchester  to  his  shoulder,  fired,  and  before  his 
yell  had  died  on  his  lips  horse  and  rider  were  away 
like  a  shaft  of  light.  The  crowd  melted  like  magic 
from  the  street.  The  Stetsons,  chiefly  on  foot,  did 
not  return  the  fire,  but  halted  up  the  street,  as  if  par 
leying.  Young  Jasper  joined  his  party,  and  they, 
too,  stood  still  a  moment,  puzzled  by  the  irresolution 
of  the  other  side. 

"  Watch  out !  they're  gittin'  round  ye  !  Run  for 
the  court  -  house,  ye  fools  I  —  ye,  run  !"  The  voice 
came  in  a  loud  yell  from  somewhere  down  the  street, 
and  its  warning  was  just  in  time. 

A  wreath  of  smoke  came  about  a  corner  of  the 
house  far  down  the  street,  and  young  Jasper  yelled, 
and  dashed  up  a  side  -  alley  with  his  followers.  A 
moment  later  judge,  jury,  witnesses,  and  sheriff  were 
flying  down  the  court-house  steps  at  the  point  of 
Lewallen  guns  ;  the  Lewallen  horses,  led  by  the  gray, 
were  snorting  through  the  streets ;  their  riders,  bar 
ricaded  in  the  forsaken  court-house,  were  puffing 
a  stream  of  fire  and  smoke  from  every  window  of 
court-room  below  and  jury-room  above. 

The  streets  were  a  bedlam.  The  Stetsons  were 
yelling  with  triumph.  The  Lewallens  were  divided, 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  145 

and  Rufe  placed  three  Stetsons  with  Winchesters  on 
each  side  of  the  court-house,  and  kept  them  firing. 
Rome,  pale  and  stern,  hid  his  force  between  the 
square  and  the  Lewallen  store.  He  was  none  too 
quick.  The  rest  were  coming  on,  led  by  old  Jasper. 
It  was  reckless,  riding  that  way  right  into  death  ; 
but  the  old  man  believed  young  Jasper's  life  at  stake, 
and  the  men  behind  asked  no  questions  when  old 
Jasper  led  them.  The  horses'  hoofs  beat  the  dirt 
street  like  the  crescendo  of  thunder.  The  fierce  old 
man's  hat  was  gone,  and  his  mane-like  hair  was  shak 
ing  in  the  wind.  Louder  —  and  still  the  Stetsons 
were  quiet — quiet  too  long.  The  wily  old  man  saw 
the  trap,  and,  with  a  yell,  whirled  the  column  up  an 
alley,  each  man  flattening  over  his  saddle.  From 
every  window,  from  behind  every  corner  and  tree, 
smoke  belched  from  the  mouth  of  a  Winchester. 
Two  horses  went  down ;  one  screamed  ;  the  other 
struggled  to  his  feet,  and  limped  away  with  an 
empty  saddle.  One  of  the  fallen  men  sprang  into 
safety  behind  a  house,  and  one  Jay  still,  with  his 
arms  stretched  out  and  his  face  in  the  dust. 

From  behind  barn,  house,  and  fence  the  Lewallens 
gave  back  a  scattering  fire ;  but  the  Stetsons  crept 
closer,  and  were  plainly  in  greater  numbers.  Old 
Jasper  was  being  surrounded,  and  he  mounted  again, 
and  all,  followed  by  a  chorus  of  bullets  and  tri 
umphant  yells,  fled  for  a  wooded  slope  in  the  rear  of 
the  court-house.  A  dozen  Lewallens  were  prisoners, 
and  must  give  up  or  starve.  There  was  savage  joy 
in  the  Stetson  crowd,  and  many-footed  rumor  went 
all  ways  that  night. 

Despite  sickness  and    Rome's  strict  order,  Isom 

10 


146  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

had  ridden  down  to  the  mill.  Standing  in  the  door 
way,  he  and  old  Gabe  saw  up  the  river,  where  the 
water  broke  into  foam  over  the  ford,  a  riderless  gray 
horse  plunging  across.  Later  it  neighed  at  a  gate 
under  Wolf's  Head,  and  Martha  Lewallen  ran  out  to 
meet  it.  Across  under  Thunderstruck  Knob  that 
night  the  old  Stetson  mother  listened  to  Isom's 
story  of  the  fight  with  ghastly  joy  in  her  death- 
marked  face. 


XI 

ALL  night  the  court-house  was  guarded  and  on 
guard.  At  one  corner  of  the  square  Rufe  Stetson, 
with  a  few  men,  sat  on  watch  in  old  Sam  Day's 
cabin  —  the  fortress  of  the  town,  built  for  such  a 
purpose,  and  used  for  it  many  times  before.  The 
prisoners,  too,  were  alert,  and  no  Stetson  ventured 
into  the  open  square,  for  the  moon  was  high  ;  an 
exposure  anywhere  was  noted  instantly  by  the  whistle 
of  a  rifle-ball,  and  the  mountaineer  takes  few  risks 
except  under  stress  of  drink  or  passion.  Rome 
Stetson  had  placed  pickets  about  the  town  wherever 
surprise  was  possible.  All  night  he  patrolled  the 
streets  to  keep  his  men  in  such  readiness  as  he 
could  for  the  attack  that  the  Lewallens  would  surely 
make  to  rescue  their  living  friends  and  to  avenge  the 
dead  ones. 

But  the  triumph  was  too  great  and  unexpected. 
Two  Braytons  were  dead ;  several  more  were  pris 
oners  with  young  Jasper  in  the  court  -  house ;  and 
drinking  began. 

As  the  night  deepened  without  attack,  the  Stetsons 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  147 

drank  more,  and  grew  reckless.  A  dance  was  started. 
Music  and  "  moonshine  "  were  given  to  every  man 
who  bore  a  Winchester.  The  night  was  broken 
with  drunken  yells,  the  random  discharge  of  fire 
arms,  and  the  monotone  of  heavy  feet.  The  two 
leaders  were  helpless ;  the  inaction  of  the  Lewallens 
puzzled  them.  Chafed  with  anxiety,  they  kept  their 
eyes  on  the  court-house  or  on  the  thicket  of  gloom 
where  their  enemies  lay.  But  the  woods  were  as 
quiet  as  the  pall  of  shadows  over  them.  Once  Rome, 
making  his  rounds,  saw  a  figure  crawling  through  a 
field  of  corn.  It  looked  like  Crump's,  but  before  he 
could  fire  the  man  rolled  like  a  ball  down  the  bushy 
bank  to  the  river.  An  instant  later  some  object  went 
swiftly  past  a  side-street — somebody  on  horseback.  A 
picket  fired  an  alarm.  The  horse  kept  on,  and  Rome 
threw  his  rifle  on  a  patch  of  moonlight.  When  the 
object  flashed  through,  his  finger  was  numbed  at  the 
trigger.  In  the  moonlight  the  horse  looked  gray,  and 
the  rider  was  seated  sidewise.  A  bullet  from  the  court 
house  clipped  his  hat-brim  as  he  ran  recklessly  across 
the  street  to  where  Steve  Marcum  stood  in  the  dark 
behind  old  Sam's  cabin. 

"  Jim  Hale  '11  git  him  as  he  goes  up  the  road," 
said  Steve,  calmly  —  and  then  with  hot  impatience, 
u  Why  the  hell  don't  he  shoot  ?" 

Rome  started  forward  in  the  moonlight,  and  Steve 
caught  his  arm.  Two  bullets  hissed  from  the  court 
house,  and  he  fell  back. 

A  shot  sounded  from  the  bushes  far  away  from 
the  road.  The  horse  kept  on,  and  splashed  into 
Troubled  Fork,  and  Steve  swore  bitterly. 

"  Hit  ain't  Jim.     Hit's  that  mis'able  Bud  Vickers  ; 


148  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

he's  been  a-standin'  guard  out'n  the  bushes  'stid  o' 
the  road.  That  was  a  spy,  I  tell  ye,  V  the  coward 
let  him  in  and  let  him  out.  They'll  know  now  we're 
all  drunk  !  Wh tit's  the  matter?" 

Rome's  mouth  was  half  open.  He  looked  white 
and  sick,  and  Steve  thought  he  had  been  hit,  but  he 
took  off  his  hat.  "  Purty  close !"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh,  pointing  at  the  bullet-hole  through  the  brim. 

Steve,  unsuspicious,  went  on  :  "  Hit  was  a  spy, 
I  tell  ye.  Bud  was  afeard  to  stan'  in  the  road,  'n'  I'm 
goin'  out  thar  'n'  twist  his  damned  neck.  We've 
got  'em,  Rome  !  I  tell  ye,  we've  got  'em  !  Ef  we 
kin  git  through  this  night,  and  git  the  boys  sober 
in  the  morning,  we've  got  'em  shore !" 

The  night  did  pass  in  safety,  darkness  wore  away 
without  attack,  and  morning  broke  on  the  town  in 
its  drunken  stupor.  Then  the  curious  silence  of  the 
Lewallens  was  explained.  The  rumor  came  that  old 
Jasper  was  dead,  and  it  went  broadcast.  Later, 
friends  coming  to  the  edge  of  the  town  for  the 
bodies  of  the  dead  Lewallens  confirmed  it.  A  ran 
dom  ball  had  passed  through  old  Lewallen's  body  in 
the  wild  flight  for  the  woods.  During  the  night  he 
had  spent  his  last  breath  in  a  curse  against  the  man 
who  fired  it. 

Then  each  Stetson,  waked  from  his  drunken  sleep, 
drank  again  when  he  heard  of  the  death.  The  day 
bade  fair  to  be  like  the  night,  and  again  the  anxie 
ty  of  the  leaders  was  edged  with  fear.  Old  Jasper 
dead  and  young  Jasper  a  prisoner,  the  chance  was 
near  to  end  the  feud.  There  would  be  no  Lewallen 
left  to  lead  their  enemies.  But,  again,  they  were  well- 
nigh  helpless.  Already  they  had  barely  enough  men 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  149 

to  guard  their  prisoners.  Of  the  Marcums,  Steve 
alone  was  able  to  handle  a  Winchester.  Outside  the 
sounds  of  the  carousal  were  in  the  air  and  growing 
louder.  In  a  little  while,  if  the  Lewallens  but  knew 
it,  escape  would  be  easy  and  the  Stetsons  could  be 
driven  from  the  town. 

"  Oh,  they  know  it,"  said  Steve.  "  They'll  be 
a-whoopin'  down  out  o'  them  woods  purty  soon,  V 
we're  goin'  to  ketch  hell.  I'd  like  to  know  mighty 
well  who  that  spy  was  last  night.  That  cussed  Bud 
Vickers  says  it  was  a  ha'nt,  on  a  white  hoss,  with 
long  hair  fly  in'  in  the  wind,  'n'  that  he  shot  plumb 
through  it.  I  jus'  wish  I'd  a  had  a  chance  at  it." 

Still,  noon  came  again  without  trouble,  and  the 
imprisoned  Lewallens  had  been  twenty  -  four  hours 
without  food.  Their  ammunition  was  getting  scarce. 
The  firing  was  less  frequent,  but  the  watch  was  as 
close  as  ever.  Twice  a  Winchester  had  sounded  a 
signal  of  distress.  All  knew  that  a  response  must 
come  soon ;  and  come  it  did.  A  picket,  watching 
the  river  road,  saw  young  Jasper's  horse  coming 
along  the  dark  bushes  far  up  the  river,  and  brought 
the  news  to  the  group  standing  behind  old  Sam's 
cabin.  The  gray  galloped  into  sight,  and,  skirting  the 
woods,  came  straight  for  the  town — with  a  woman 
on  his  back.  The  stirrup  of  a  man's  saddle  dangled 
on  one  side,  and  the  woman's  bonnet  had  fallen  from 
her  head.  Some  one  challenged  her. 

"  Stop,  I  tell  ye !  Don't  ye  go  near  that  court 
house  !  Stop,  I  tell  ye  !  I'll  shoot !  Stop  !" 

Rome  ran  from  the  cabin  with  a  revolver  in  each 
hand.  A  drunken  mountaineer  was  raising  a  Win 
chester  to  his  shoulder.  Springing  from  the  back  of 


150  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

the  gray  at  the  court-house  steps  was  Martha  Le- 
wallen. 

"  I'll  kill  the  fust  man  that  lifts  his  finger  to  hurt 
the  gal,"  Rome  said,  knocking  the  drunken  man's 
gun  in  the  air.  "  We  hain't  fightin'  women  !" 

It  was  too  late  to  oppose  her,  and  the  crowd  stood 
helplessly  watching.  No  one  dared  approach,  and, 
shielding  with  her  body  the  space  of  the  opening 
door,  she  threw  the  sack  of  food  within.  Then  she 
stood  a  moment  talking  and,  turning,  climbed  to 
her  saddle.  The  gray  was  spotted  with  foam,  and 
showed  the  red  of  his  nostrils  with  every  breath  as, 
with  face  flushed  and  eyes  straight  before  her,  she 
rode  slowly  towards  the  crowd.  What  was  she  about? 
Rome  stood  rigid,  his  forgotten  pistols  hanging  at 
each  side;  the  mouth  of  the  drunken  mountaineer 
was  open  with  stupid  wonder ;  the  rest  fell  apart  as 
she  came  around  the  corner  of  the  cabin  and,  through 
the  space  given,  rode  slowly,  her  skirt  almost  brush 
ing  Rome,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left ;  and  when  she  had  gone  quite  through  them 
all,  she  wheeled  and  rode,  still  slowly,  through  the 
open  fields  towards  the  woods  which  sheltered  the 
Lewallens,  while  the  crowd  stood  in  bewildered  si 
lence  looking  after  her.  Yells  of  laughter  came  from 
the  old  court-house.  Some  of  the  Stetsons  laughed, 
too ;  some  swore,  a  few  grumbled ;  but  there  was 
not  one  who  was  not  stirred  by  the  superb  daring  of 
the  girl,  though  she  had  used  it  only  to  show  her 
contempt. 

"Rome,  you're  a  fool ;  though,  fer  a  fac',  we  can't 
shoot  a  woman ;  'n'  anyways  I  ruther  shoot  her 
than  the  hoss.  But  lemme  tell  ye,  thar  was  more'n 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  151 

sump'n  to  eat  in  that  bag!  They  air  up  to  some 
dodge." 

Rufe  Stetson  had  watched  the  incident  through  a 
port-hole  of  the  cabin,  and  his  tone  was  at  once  jest 
ing  and  anxious. 

"  That  grub  won't  last  more'n  one  day,  I  reckon," 
said  the  drunken  mountaineer.  "We'll  watch  out 
fer  the  gal  nex'  time.  We're  boun'  to  git  'em  one 
time  or  t'other." 

"  She  rid  through  us  to  find  out  how  many  of  us 
wasn't  dead  drunk,"  said  Steve  Marcum,  still  watch 
ing  the  girl  as  she  rode  on  towards  the  woods ;  "  V 
I'm  a-thinkin'  they'll  be  down  on  us  purty  soon  now, 
'n'  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  run  fer  it.  Look  thar, 
boys !" 

The  girl  had  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  woods ; 
facing  the  town,  she  waved  her  bonnet  high  above 
her  head. 

"  Well,  whut  in  the — "  he  said,  with  slow  empha 
sis,  and  then  he  leaped  from  the  door  with  a  yell. 
The  bonnet  was  a  signal  to  the  beleaguered  Lewal- 
lens.  The  rear  door  of  the  court-house  had  been 
quietly  opened,  arid  the  prisoners  were  out  in  a 
body  and  scrambling  over  the  fence  before  the  pick 
ets  could  give  an  alarm.  The  sudden  yells,  the  crack 
of  Winchesters,  startled  even  the  revellers ;  and  all 
who  could,  headed  by  Rome  and  Steve  Marcum, 
sprang  into  the  square,  and  started  in  pursuit.  But 
the  Lewallens  had  got  far  ahead,  and  were  running 
in  zigzag  lines  to  dodge  the  balls  flying  after  them. 
Half-way  to  the  woods  was  a  gully  of  red  clay,  and 
into  this  the  fleetest  leaped,  and  turned  instantly  to 
cover  their  comrades.  The  Winchesters  began  to 


152  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

rattle  from  the  woods,  and  the  bullets  came  like  rain 
from  everywhere. 

"  T-h-up  J  T-h-up!  T-h-up!"  there  were  three  of 
them — the  peculiar  soft,  dull  messages  of  hot  lead 
to  living  flesh.  A  Stetson  went  down ;  another 
stumbled ;  Rufe  Stetson,  climbing  the  fence,  caught 
at  his  breast  with  an  oath,  and  fell  back.  Rome  and 
Steve  dropped  for  safety  to  the  ground.  Every  other 
Stetson  turned  in  a  panic,  and  every  Lewallen  in  the 
gully  leaped  from  it,  and  ran  under  the  Lewallen  fire 
for  shelter  in  the  woods.  The  escape  was  over. 

"  That  was  a  purty  neat  trick,"  said  Steve,  wiping 
a  red  streak  from  his  cheek.  "  Nex'  time  she  tries 
that,  she'll  git  herself  into  trouble." 

At  nightfall  the  wounded  leader  and  the  dead  one 
were  carried  up  the  mountain,  each  to  his  home ; 
and  there  was  mourning  far  into  the  night  on  one 
bank  of  the  Cumberland,  and,  serious  though  Rufe 
Stetson's  wound  was,  exultation  on  the  other.  But 
in  it  Rome  could  take  but  little  part.  There  had 
been  no  fault  to  find  with  him  in  the  fight.  But  a 
reaction  had  set  in  when  he  saw  the  girl  flash  in  the 
moonlight  past  the  sights  of  his  Winchester,  and  her 
face  that  day  had  again  loosed  within  him  a  flood  of 
feeling  that  drove  the  lust  for  revenge  from  his  veins. 
Even  now,  while  he  sat  in  his  own  cabin,  his  thoughts 
were  across  the  river  where  Martha,  broken  at  last, 
sat  at  her  death  vigils.  He  knew  what  her  daring 
ride  that  day  had  cost  her,  with  old  Jasper  dead  out 
there  in  the  woods ;  and  as  she  passed  him  he  had 
grown  suddenly  humbled,  shamed.  He  grew  heart 
sick  now  as  he  thought  of  it  all ;  and  the  sight  of  his 
mother  on  her  bed  in  the  corner,  close  to  death  as 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  153 

she  was,  filled  him  with  bitterness.  There  was  no 
help  for  him.  He  was  alone  now,  pitted  against 
young  Jasper  alone.  On  one  bed  lay  his  uncle — 
nigh  to  death.  There  was  the  grim  figure  in  the 
corner,  the  implacable  spirit  of  hate  and  revenge. 
His  rifle  was  against  the  wall.  If  there  was  any  joy 
for  him  in  old  Jasper's  death,  it  was  that  his  hand 
had  not  caused  it,  and  yet — God  help  him  !— there 
was  the  other  cross,  the  other  oath. 


XII 

THE  star  and  the  crescent  were  swinging  above 
Wolfs  Head,  and  in  the  dark  hour  that  breaks  into 
dawn  a  cavalcade  of  Lewallens  forded  the  Cumber 
land,  and  galloped  along  the  Stetson  shore.  At  the 
head  rode  young  Jasper,  and  Crump  the  spy. 

Swift  changes  had  followed  the  court-house  fight. 
In  spite  of  the  death  of  Rufe  Stetson  from  his  wound, 
and  several  other  Stetsons  from  ambush,  the  Le 
wallens  had  lost  ground.  Old  Jasper's  store  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  creditors — "  furriners  " — for 
debts,  and  it  was  said  his  homestead  must  follow. 
In  a  private  war  a  leader  must  be  more  than  leader. 
He  must  feed  and  often  clothe  his  followers,  and 
young  Jasper  had  not  the  means  to  carry  on  the  feud. 
The  famine  had  made  corn  dear.  He  could  feed 
neither  man  nor  horse,  and  the  hired  feudsmen  fell 
away,  leaving  the  Lewallens  and  the  Bray  tons  and 
their  close  kin  to  battle  alone.  So  Jasper  avoided 
open  combat  and  resorted  to  ambush  and  surprise ; 
and,  knowing  in  some  way  every  move  made  by  the 


154  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

Stetsons,  with  great  daring  and  success.  It  was 
whispered,  too,  that  he  no  longer  cared  who  owned 
what  he  might  want  for  himself.  Several  dark  deeds 
were  traced  to  him.  In  a  little  while  he  was  a  terror 
to  good  citizens,  and  finally  old  Gabe  asked  aid  of 
the  governor.  Soldiers  from  the  settlements  were 
looked  for  any  day,  and  both  factions  knew  it.  At 
the  least  this  would  delay  the  war,  and  young  Jasper 
had  got  ready  for  a  last  fight,  which  was  close  at 
hand. 

Half  a  mile  on  the  riders  swerved  into  a  wooded 
slope.  There  they  hid  their  horses  in  the  brush, 
and  climbed  the  spur  stealthily.  The  naked  woods 
showed  the  cup-like  shape  of  the  mountains  there — 
a  basin  from  which  radiated  upward  wooded  ravines, 
edged  with  ribs  of  rock.  In  this  basin  the  Stetsons 
were  encamped.  The  smoke  of  a  fire  was  visible  in 
the  dim  morning  light,  and  the  Lewallens  scattered 
to  surround  the  camp.  The  effort  was  vain.  A 
picket  saw  the  creeping  figures ;  his  gun  echoed  a 
warning  from  rock  to  rock,  and  with  yells  the  Le 
wallens  ran  forward.  Rome  sprang  from  sleep  near 
the  fire,  bareheaded,  rifle  in  hand,  his  body  plain 
against  a  huge  rock,  and  the  bullets  hissed  and  spat 
about  him  as  he  leaped  this  way  and  that,  firing  as 
he  sprang,  and  shouting  for  his  men.  Steve  Mar- 
cum  alone  answered.  Some,  startled  from  sleep,  had 
fled  in  a  panic ;  some  had  run  deeper  into  the  woods 
for  shelter.  And  bidding  Steve  save  himself,  Rome 
turned  up  the  mountain,  running  from  tree  to  tree, 
and  dropped  unhurt  behind  a  fallen  chestnut.  Other 
Stetsons,  too,  had  turned,  and  answering  bullets  be 
gan  to  whistle  to  the  enemy.  But  they  were  widely 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  155 

separated  and  ignorant  of  one  another's  position, 
and  the  Lewallens  drove  them  one  by  one  to  new 
hiding-places,  scattering  them  more.  To  his  right 
Rome  saw  Steve  Marcum  speed  like  a  shadow  up 
through  a  little  open  space,  but  he  feared  to  move. 
Several  Lewallens  had  recognized  him,  and  were 
watching  him  alone.  He  could  not  even  fire  ;  at  the 
least  exposure  there  was  a  chorus  of  bullets  about 
his  ears.  In  a  moment  they  began  to  come  oblique 
ly  from  each  side  ;  the  Lewallens  were  getting  around 
him.  In  a  moment  more  death  was  sure  there,  and 
once  again  he  darted  up  the  mountain.  The  bullets 
sang  after  him  like  maddened  bees.  He  felt  one  cut 
his  hat  and  another  sting  his  left  arm,  but  he  raced 
up,  up,  till  the  firing  grew  fainter  as  he  climbed,  and 
ceased  an  instant  altogether.  Then,  still  farther  be 
low,  came  a  sudden  crash  of  reports.  Stetsons  were 
pursuing  the  men  who  were  after  him,  but  he  could 
not  join  them.  The  Lewallens  were  scattered  every 
where  between  him  and  his  own  men,  and  a  descent 
might  lead  him  to  the  muzzle  of  an  enemy's  "Win 
chester.  So  he  climbed  over  a  ledge  of  rock  and 
lay  there,  peeping  through  a  crevice  between  two 
bowlders,  gaining  his  breath.  The  firing  was  far 
below  him  now,  and  was  sharp.  Evidently  his  pur 
suers  were  too  busy  defending  themselves  to  think 
further  of  him,  and  he  began  to  plan  how  he  should 
get  back  to  his  friends.  But  he  kept  hidden,  and, 
searching  the  cliffs  below  him  for  a  sheltered  de 
scent,  he  saw  something  like  a  slouched  hat  just 
over  a  log,  scarcely  fifty  feet  below  him.  Presently 
the  hat  was  lifted  a  few  inches ;  a  figure  rose  cau 
tiously  and  climbed  towards  the  ledge,  shielding 


156  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

itself  behind  rock  and  tree.  Very  quietly  Rome 
crawled  back  to  the  face  of  the  cliff  behind  him,  and 
crouched  behind  a  rock  with  his  cocked  rifle  across 
his  knees.  The  man  must  climb  over  the  ledge ; 
there  would  be  a  bare,  level  floor  of  rock  between 
them — the  Lewallen  would  be  at  his  mercy — and 
Rome,  with  straining  ears,  waited.  There  was  a 
foot-fall  on  the  other  side  of  the  ledge ;  a  soft  clink 
of  metal  against  stone.  The  Lewallen  was  climbing 
slowly — slowly.  Rome  could  hear  his  heavy  breath 
ing.  A  grimy  hand  slipped  over  the  sharp  comb  of 
the  ledge  ;  another  appeared,  clinched  about  a  Win 
chester — then  the  slouched  hat,  and  under  it  the 
dark,  crafty  face  of  young  Jasper.  Rome  sat  like 
the  stone  before  him,  with  a  half-smile  on  his  lips. 
Jasper  peered  about  with  the  sly  caution  of  a  fox, 
and  his  face  grew  puzzled  and  chagrined  as  he 
looked  at  the  cliffs  above  him. 

"  Stop  thar  !" 

He  was  drawing  himself  over  the  ledge,  and  the 
low,  stern  voice  startled  him,  as  a  knife  might  have 
done,  thrust  suddenly  from  the  empty  air  at  his 
breast.  Rome  rose  upright  against  the  cliff,  with 
his  resolute  face  against  the  stock  of  a  Winchester. 

"  Drap  that  gun  !" 

The  order  was  given  along  Stetson's  barrel,  and 
the  weapon  was  dropped,  the  steel  ringing  on  the 
stone  floor.  Rome  lowered  his  gun  to  the  hollow  of 
his  arm,  and  the  two  young  leaders  faced  each  other 
for  the  first  time  in  the  life  of  either. 

"  Seem  kinder  s'prised  to  see  me,"  said  the  Stet 
son,  grimly.  "  Hev  ye  got  a  pistol  ?" 

Young  Jasper  glared  at  him  in  helpless  ferocity. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  157 

«  Naw  !" 

"  Knife?" 

He  drew  a  Icmg-bladed  penknife  from  his  pocket, 
and  tossed  it  at  Rome's  feet. 

"  Jes'  move  over  thar,  will  ye  ?" 

The  Lewallen  took  his  stand  against  the  cliff, 
Rome  picked  up  the  fallen  rifle,  and  leaned  it  against 
the  ledge. 

"  Now,  Jas  Lewallen,  thar's  nobody  left  in  this 
leetle  trouble  'cept  you  V  me,  'n'  ef  one  of  us  was 
dead,  I  reckon  t'other  could  live  hyeh,  'n'  thar'd  be 
peace  in  these  mount'ins.  I  thought  o'  that  when  I 
had  ye  at  the  eend  o'  this  Winchester.  I  reckon 
you  would  'a'  shot  me  dead  ef  I  had  poked  my  head 
over  a  rock  as  keerless  as  you."  That  is  just  what 
he  would  have  done,  and  Jasper  did  not  answer. 
"  I've  swore  to  kill  ye,  too,"  added  Rome,  tapping 
his  gun  ;  "  I've  got  a  cross  fer  ye  hyeh." 

The  Lewallen  was  no  coward.  Outcry  or  resist 
ance  was  useless.  The  Stetson  meant  to  taunt  him, 
to  make  death  more  bitter;  for  Jasper  expected 
death,  and  he  sullenly  waited  for  it  against  the  cliff. 

"You've  been  banterin'  me  a  long  time  now, 
'lowin'  as  how  ye  air  the  better  man  o'  the  two ;  'n' 
I've  got  a  notion  o'  givin'  ye  a  chance  to  prove  yer 
tall  talk.  Hit's  not  our  way  to  kill  a  man  in  cold 
blood,  'n'  I  don't  want  to  kill  ye  anyways  ef  I  kin 
he'p  it.  Seem  s'prised  ag'in.  Reckon  ye  don't  be 
lieve  me  ?  I  don't  wonder  when  I  think  o'  my  own 
dad,  'n'  all  the  meanness  yo'  folks  have  done  mine ; 
but  I've  got  a  good  reason  fer  not  killin'  ye — ef  I 
kin  he'p  it.  Y'u  don't  know  what  it  is,  'n'  y'u'll  never 
know  ;  but  I'll  give  ye  a  chance  now  fer  yer  life  ef 


158  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

y'u'll  sw'ar  on  a  stack  o'  Bibles  as  high  as  that  tree 
thar  that  y'u'll  leave  these  mount'ins  ef  1  whoops  ye, 
V  nuver  come  back  ag'in  as  long  as  you  live.  I'll 
leave,  ef  ye  whoops  me.  Now,  whut  do  ye  say  ? 
Will  ye  sw'ar  ?" 

"  I  reckon  I  will,  seein'  as  I've  got  to,"  was  the 
surly  answer.  But  Jasper's  face  was  dark  with  sus 
picion,  and  Rome  studied  it  keenly.  The  Lewallens 
once  had  been  men  whose  word  was  good,  but  he 
did  not  like  Jasper's  look. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  trust  ye,"  he  said,  at  last,  more 
through  confidence  in  his  own  strength  than  faith  in 
his  enemy  ;  for  Jasper  whipped  would  be  as  much  at 
his  mercy  as  he  was  now.  So  Rome  threw  off  his  coat, 
and  began  winding  his  homespun  suspenders  about 
his  waist.  Watching  him  closely,  Jasper  did  the  same. 

The  firing  below  had  ceased.  A  flock  of  mountain 
vultures  was  sailing  in  great  circles  over  the  thick 
woods.  Two  eagles  swept  straight  from  the  rim  of 
the  sun  above  Wolf's  Head,  beating  over  a  turbulent 
sea  of  mist  for  the  cliffs,  scarcely  fifty  yards  above  the 
ledge,  where  a  pine-tree  grew  between  two  rocks. 
At  the  instant  of  lighting,  they  wheeled  away,  each 
with  a  warning  scream  to  the  other.  A  figure  lying 
flat  behind  the  pine  had  frightened  them,  and  now  a 
face  peeped  to  one  side,  flushed  with  eagerness  over 
the  coming  fight.  Both  were  ready  now,  and  the 
Lewallen  grew  suddenly  white  as  Rome  turned  again 
and  reached  down  for  the  guns. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  put  'em  a  leetle  furder  out  o'  the 
way,"  he  said,  kicking  the  knife  over  the  cliff ;  and, 
standing  on  a  stone,  he  thrust  them  into  a  crevice  high 
above  his  head. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  159 

"  Now,  Jas,  we'll  figlit  this  gredge  out,  as  our 
grandads  have  done  afore  us." 

Lewallen  and  Stetson  were  man  to  man  at  last. 
Suspicion  was  gone  now,  and  a  short,  brutal  laugh 
came  from  the  cliff. 

"  I'll  fight  ye  !     Oh,  by  God,  I'll  fight  ye  !" 

The  ring  of  the  voice  struck  an  answering  gleam 
from  Rome's  gray  eyes,  and  the  two  sprang  for 
each  other.  It  was  like  the  struggle  of  primeval  men 
who  had  not  yet  learned  even  the  use  of  clubs.  For 
an  instant  both  stood  close,  like  two  wild  beasts 
crouched  for  a  spring,  and  circling  about  to  get  at 
each  other's  throats,  with  mouths  set,  eyes  watch 
ing  eyes,  and  hands  twitching  nervously.  Young 
Jasper  leaped  first,  and  the  Stetson,  wary  of  closing 
with  him,  shrank  back.  There  were  a  few,  quick, 
heavy  blows,  and  the  Lewallen  was  beaten  away  with 
blood  at  his  lips.  Then  each  knew  the  advantage  of 
the  other.  The  Stetson's  reach  was  longer ;  the 
Lewallen  was  shorter  and  heavier,  and  again  he 
closed  in.  Again  Rome  sent  out  his  long  arm.  A 
turn  of  Jasper's  head  let  the  heavy  fist  pass  over  his 
shoulder.  The  force  of  the  blow  drove  Rome  forward  ; 
the  two  clinched,  and  Jasper's  arms  tightened  about 
the  Stetson's  waist.  With  a  quick  gasp  for  breath 
Rome  loosed  his  hold,  and,  bending  his  enemy's 
head  back  with  one  hand,  rained  blow  after  blow  in 
his  face  with  the  other.  One  terrible  stroke  on  the 
jaw,  and  Jasper's  arms  were  loosed ;  the  two  fell 
apart,  the  one  stunned,  the  other  breathless.  One 
dazed  moment  only,  and  for  a  third  time  the  Lewal 
len  came  on.  Rome  had  been  fighting  a  man  ;  now 
he  faced  a  demon.  Jasper's  brows  stood  out  like 


160  A     CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

bristles,  and  the  eyes  under  them  were  red  and  fierce 
like  a  mad  bull's.  Again  Rome's  blows  fell,  but 
again  the  Lewallen  reached  him,  and  this  time  he  got 
his  face  under  the  Stetson's  chin,  arid  the  heavy 
fist  fell  upon  the  back  of  his  head,  and  upon  his 
neck,  as  upon  wood  and  leather.  Again  Rome  had 
to  gasp  for  breath,  and  again  the  two  were  fiercely 
locked — their  corded  arms  as  tense  as  serpents. 
Around  and  around  they  whirled,  straining,  tripping, 
breaking  the  silence  only  with  deep,  quick  breaths 
and  the  stamping  of  feet,  Jasper  firm  on  the  rock, 
and  Rome's  agility  saving  him  from  being  lifted  in 
the  air  and  tossed  from  the  cliff.  There  was  no 
pause  for  rest.  It  was  a  struggle  to  the  end,  and  a 
quick  one ;  and  under  stress  of  excitement  the  figure 
at  the  pine-tree  had  risen  to  his  knees — jumping 
even  to  his  feet  in  plain  view,  when  the  short,  strong 
arms  of  the  Lewallen  began  at  last  to  draw  Rome 
closer  still,  and  to  bend  him  backward.  The  Stetson 
was  giving  way  at  last.  The  Lewallen's  vindictive 
face  grew  blacker,  and  his  white  teeth  showed  be 
tween  his  snarling  lips  as  he  fastened  one  leg 
behind  his  enemy's,  and,  with  chin  against  his 
shoulder,  bent  him  slowly,  slowly  back.  The  two 
breathed  in  short,  painful  gasps ;  their  swollen 
muscles  trembled  under  the  strain  as  with  ague. 
Back — back — the  Stetson  was  falling  ;  he  seemed 
almost  down,  when — the  trick  is  an  old  one — whirl 
ing  with  the  quickness  of  light,  he  fell  heavily  on 
his  opponent,  and  caught  him  by  the  throat  with 
both  hands. 

"  'Nough  ?"  he  asked,  hoarsely.     It  was  the  first 
word  uttered. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  161 

The  only  answer  was  a  fierce  struggle.  Rome 
felt  the  Lewallen's  teeth  sinking  in  his  arm,  and 
his  fingers  tightened  like  twisting  steel,  till  Jasper- 
caught  his  breath  as  though  strangling  to  death. 

"  'Nough  ?"  asked  the  hoarse  voice  again. 

No  answer;  tighter  clinched  the  fingers.  The 
Lewallen  shook  his  head  feebly ;  his  purple  face 
paled  suddenly  as  Rome  loosed  his  hold,  and  his 
lips  moved  in  a  whisper. 

"  'Nough !" 

Rome  rose  dizzily  to  one  knee.  Jasper  turned, 
gasping,  and  lay  with  his  face  to  the  rock.  For 
a  while  both  were  quiet,  Rome,  panting  with  open 
mouth  and  white  with  exhaustion,  looking  down 
now  and  then  at  the  Lewallen,  whose  face  was 
turned  away  with  shame. 

The  sun  was  blazing  above  Wolf's  Head  now,  and 
the  stillness  about  them  lay  unbroken  on  the  woods 
below. 

"  I've  whooped  ye,  Jas,"  Rome  said,  at  last ;  "  I 
whooped  ye  in  a  fa'r  fight,  V  I've  got  nothin'  now 
to  say  'bout  yer  tall  talk,  'n'  I  reckon  you  hevn't 
nuther.  Now,  hit's  understood,  hain't  it,  that  y'u'll 
leave  these  mountains  ? 

"  Y'u  kin  go  West,"  he  continued,  as  the  Lewallen 
did  not  answer.  "  Uncle  Rufe  used  to  say  thar's  a 
good  deal  to  do  out  thar,  'n'  nobody  axes  questions. 
Thar's  nobody  left  hyeh  but  you  'n'  me,  but  these 
mount'ins  was  never  big  'hough  fer  one  Lewallen  'n' 
one  Stetson,  'n'  you've  got  to  go.  I  reckon  ye  won't 
believe  me,  but  I'm  glad  I  didn't  hev  to  kill  ye.  But 
you've  promised  to  go,  now,  'n'  I'll  take  yer  word 

fer   it."     He    turned    his   face,  and   the    Lewallen, 
11 


162  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

knowing  it  from  the  sound  of  his  voice,  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"  Oh !" 

A  wild  curse  burst  from  Rome's  lips,  and  both 
leaped  for  the  guns.  The  Lewallen  had  the  start  of 
a  few  feet,  and  Rome,  lamed  in  the  fight,  stumbled 
and  fell.  Before  he  could  rise  Jasper  had  whirled, 
with  one  of  the  Winchesters  above  his  head  and  his 
face  aflame  with  fury.  Asking  no  mercy,  Rome  hid 
his  face  with  one  arm  and  waited,  stricken  faint  all 
at  once,  and  numb.  One  report  struck  his  ears, 
muffled,  whip-like.  A  dull  wonder  came  to  him  that 
the  Lewallen  could  have  missed  at  such  close  range, 
and  he  waited  for  another.  Some  one  shouted — a 
shrill  halloo.  A  loud  laugh  followed  ;  a  light  seemed 
breaking  before  Rome's  eyes,  and  he  lifted  his  head. 
Jasper  was  on  his  face  again,  motionless ;  and  Steve 
Marcum's  tall  figure  was  climbing  over  a  bowlder 
towards  him. 

"  That  was  the  best  fight  I've  seed  in  my  time, 
by  God"  he  said,  coolly, "  V,  Rome,  y'u  air  the  biggest 
fool  this  side  o'  the  settlements,  I  reckon.  I  had 
dead  aim  on  him,  'n'  I  was  jest  a-thinkin'  hit  was  a 
purty  good  thing  fer  you  that  ole  long-nosed  Jim 
Stover  chased  me  up  hyeh,  when,  damn  me,  ef  that 
boy  up  thar  didn't  let  his  ole  gun  loose.  I'd  a-got 
Jas  myself  ef  he  hadn't  been  so  all-fired  quick  o' 
trigger." 

Up  at  the  root  of  the  pine-tree  Isom  stood  motion 
less,  with  his  long  rifle  in  one  hand  and  a  little  cloud 
of  smoke  breaking  above  his  white  face.  When 
Rome  looked  up  he  started  down  without  a  word. 
Steve  swung  himself  over  the  ledge. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  163 

"  I  heerd  the  shootin',"  said  the  boy,  "  up  thar  at 
the  cave,  V  I  couldn't  stay  thar.  I  knowed  ye  could 
whoop  him,  Rome,  V  I  seed  Steve,  too,  but  I  was 
afeard — "  Then  he  saw  the  body.  His  tongue 
stopped,  his  face  shrivelled,  and  Steve,  hanging  with 
one  hand  to  the  ledge,  watched  him  curiously. 

"  Rome,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  quick  whisper,  "  is  he 
daid  ?" 

"  Come  on  !"  said  Steve,  roughly.  "  They'll  be  up 
hyeh  atter  us  in  a  minute.  Leave  Jas's  gun  thar,  V 
send  that  boy  back  home." 

That  day  the  troops  came  —  young  Blue  Grass 
Kentuckians.  That  night,  within  the  circle  of  their 
camp-fires,  a  last  defiance  was  cast  in  the  teeth  of 
law  and  order.  Flames  rose  within  the  old  court 
house,  and  before  midnight  the  moonlight  fell  on 
four  black  walls.  That  night,  too,  the  news  of 
young  Jasper's  fate  was  carried  to  the  death-bed  of 
Rome's  mother,  and  before  day  the  old  woman 
passed  in  peace.  That  day  Stetsons  and  Lewallens 
disbanded.  The  Lewallens  had  no  leader ;  the  Stet 
sons,  no  enemies  to  fight.  Some  hid,  some  left  the 
mountains,  some  gave  themselves  up  for  trial.  Upon 
Rome  Stetson  the  burden  fell.  Against  him  the  law 
was  set.  A  price  was  put  on  his  head,  his  house 
was  burned — a  last  act  of  Levvallen  hate — and  Rome 
was  homeless,  the  last  of  his  race,  and  an  outlaw. 


XIII 

WITH  the  start  of  a  few  hours  and  the  sympathy 
of  his  people  one  mountaineer  can  defy  the  army  of 


164  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

the  United  States ;  and  the  mountaineers  usually  laugh 
when  they  hear  troops  are  coming.  For  the  time 
they  stop  fighting,  and  hide  in  the  woods ;  and  when 
the  soldiers  are  gone,  they  come  out  again,  and 
begin  anew  their  little  pleasantries.  But  the  soldiers 
can  protect  the  judge  on  his  bench  and  the  county- 
seat  in  time  of  court,  and  for  these  purposes  they 
serve  well. 

The  search  for  Rome  Stetson,  then,  was  useless. 
His  friends  would  aid  him  ;  his  enemies  feared  to  be 
tray  him.  So  the  soldiers  marched  away  one  morn 
ing,  and  took  their  prisoners  for  safe-keeping  in  the 
Blue  Grass,  until  court  should  open  at  Hazlan. 

Meantime,  spring  came  and  deepened — the  moun 
tain  spring.  The  berries  of  the  wintergreen  grew 
scarce,  and  Rome  Stetson,  "hiding  out,"  as  the 
phrase  is,  had  to  seek  them  on  the  northern  face 
of  the  mountains.  The  moss  on  the  naked  winter 
trees  brightened  in  color,  and  along  the  river,  where 
willows  drooped,  ran  faint  lines  of  green.  The  trail- 
ing-arbutus  gave  out  delicate  pink  blossoms,  and 
the  south  wind  blew  apart  the  petals  of  the  anemone. 
Soon  violets  unfolded  above  the  dead  leaves  ;  azaleas 
swung  their  yellow  trumpets  through  the  under 
growth  ;  overhead,  the  dogwood  tossed  its  snow-flakes 
in  gusts  through  the  green  and  gold  of  new  leaves 
and  sunlight ;  and  higher  still  waved  the  poplar 
blooms,  with  honey  ready  on  every  crimson  heart  for 
the  bees.  Down  in  the  valley  Rome  Stetson  could 
see  about  every  little  cabin  pink  clouds  and  white 
clouds  of  peach  and  of  apple  blossoms.  Amid  the 
ferns  about  him  shade-loving  trilliums  showed  their 
many-lined  faces,  and  every  opening  was  thickly  peo- 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  165 

pled  with  larkspur  seeking  the  sun.  The  giant  magno 
lia  and  the  umbrella-tree  spread  their  great  creamy 
flowers;  the  laurel  shook  out  myriads  of  pink  and 
white  bells,  and  the  queen  of  mountain  flowers  was 
stirring  from  sleep  in  the  buds  of  the  rhododendron. 

With  the  spring  new  forces  pulsed  the  mountain 
air.  The  spirit  of  the  times  reached  even  Hazlan. 
A  railroad  was  coming  up  the  river,  so  the  rumor 
was.  When  winter  broke,  surveyors  had  appeared  ; 
after  them,  mining  experts  and  purchasers  of  land. 
New  ways  of  bread-making  were  open  to  all,  and  the 
feudsman  began  to  see  that  he  could  make  food  and 
clothes  more  easily  and  with  less  danger  than  by 
sleeping  with  his  rifle  in  the  woods,  and  by  fighting 
men  who  had  done  him  no  harm.  Many  were  tired 
of  fighting ;  many,  forced  into  the  feud,  had  fought 
unwillingly.  Others  had  sold  their  farms  and  wild 
lands,  and  were  moving  towards  the  Blue  Grass  or 
westward.  The  desperadoes  of  each  faction  had  fled 
the  law  or  were  in  its  clutches.  The  last  Lewallen 
was  dead ;  the  last  Stetson  was  hidden  away  in  the 
mountains.  There  were  left  Marcums  and  Braytons, 
but  only  those  who  felt  safest  from  indictment ;  in 
these  a  spirit  of  hostility  would  live  for  years,  and, 
roused  by  passion  or  by  drink,  would  do  murder  now 
on  one  side  of  the  Cumberland  and  now  on  the  other; 
but  the  Stetson-Lewallen  feud,  old  Gabe  believed, 
was  at  an  end  at  last. 

All  these  things  the  miller  told  Rome  Stetson,  who 
well  knew  what  they  meant.  lie  was  safe  enough 
from  the  law  while  the  people  took  no  part  in  his 
capture,  but  he  grew  apprehensive  when  he  learned 
of  the  changes  going  on  in  the  valley.  None  but 


166  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

old  Gabe  knew  where  he  was,  to  be  sure,  but  with 
his  own  enemies  to  guide  the  soldiers  he  could  not 
hope  to  remain  hidden  long.  Still,  with  that  love  of 
the  mountains  characteristic  of  all  races  born  among 
them,  he  clung  to  his  own  land.  He  would  rather 
stay  where  he  was  the  space  of  a  year  and  die,  he 
told  old  Gabe  passionately,  than  live  to  old  age  in 
another  State. 

But  there  was  another  motive,  and  he  did  not 
hide  it.  On  the  other  side  he  had  one  enemy  left — 
the  last,  too,  of  her  race — who  was  more  to  him  than 
his  own  dead  kindred,  who  hated  him,  who  placed  at 
his  door  all  her  sorrows.  For  her  he  was  living  like 
a  wolf  in  a  cave,  and  old  Gabe  knew  it.  Her  he 
would  not  leave. 

"  I  tell  ye,  Rome,  you've  got  to  go.  Thar's  no  use 
talkin'.  Gouht  comes  the  fust  Monday  in  June. 
The  soldiers  will  be  hyeh.  Hit  won't  be  safe.  Thar's 
some  that  s'picions  I  know  whar  ye  air  now,  V 
they'll  be  spyin',  V  mebbe  hit'll  git  me  into  trouble, 
too,  aidin'  V  abettin'  a  man  to  git  away  who  air 
boun'  to  the  law." 

The  two  were  sitting  on  the  earthen  floor  of  the 
cave  before  a  little  fire,  and  Rome,  with  his  hands 
about  his  knees,  and  his  brows  knitted,  was  staring 
into  the  yellow  blaze.  His  unshorn  hair  fell  to  his 
shoulders ;  his  face  was  pale  from  insufficient  food 
and  exercise,  and  tense  with  a  look  that  was  at  once 
caged  and  defiant. 

"  Uncle  Gabe,"  he  asked,  quietly,  for  the  old  man's 
tone  was  a  little  querulous,  "  air  ye  sorry  ye  holped 
me  ?  Do  ye  blame  me  fer  whut  I've  done  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  old  miller,  answering  both  ques- 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  167 

tions  ;  "  I  don't.  I  believe  whut  ye  tol'  me.  Though, 
even  ef  ye  hed  'a'  done  it,  I  don't  know  as  I'd  blame 
ye,  seein'  that  it  was  a  fa'r  fight.  I  don't  doubt  he 
was  doin'  his  best  to  kill  you." 

Rome  turned  quickly,  his  face  puzzled  and  dark 
ening. 

"  Uncle  Gabe,  whut  air  you  drivin'  at  ?"  The  old 
man  spat  into  the  fire,  and  shifted  his  position  un 
easily,  as  Rome's  hand  caught  his  knee. 

"  Well,  ef  I  have  to  tell  ye,  I  s'pose  I  must.  Thar's 
been  nothin'  pertickler  ag'in'  ye  so  fer,  'cept  fer 
breakin'  that  confederatin'  statchet  'bout  bandin' 
fightin'  men  together ;  V  nobody  was  very  anxious 
to  git  hoi'  o'  ye  jes  fer  that,  but  now  " —  the  old  man 
stopped  a  moment,  for  Rome's  eyes  were  kindling — 
"  they  say  that  ye  killed  Jas  Lewallen,  V  that  ye  air 
a  murderer ;  'n'  hit  air  powerful  strange  how  all  of  a 
suddint  folks  seem  to  be  gittin'  down  on  a  man  as 
kills  his  fellow-creetur ;  'n'  now  they  means  to  hunt 
ye  till  they  ketch  ye." 

It  was  all  out  now,  and  the  old  man  was  relieved. 
Rome  rose  to  his  feet,  and  in  sheer  agony  of  spirit 
paced  the  floor. 

"  I  tol'  ye,  Uncle  Gabe,  that  I  didn't  kill  him." 

"  So  ye  'did,  'n'  I  believe  ye.  But  a  feller  seed 
you  'n'  Steve  comin'  from  the  place  whar  Jas  was 
found  dead,  'n'  whar  the  dirt  'n'  rock  was  throwed 
about  as  by  two  bucks  in  spring-tirne.  Steve  says  he 
didn't  do  it,  'n'  he  wouldn't  say  you  didn't.  Looks 
to  me  like  Steve  did  the  killin',  'n'  was  lyin'  a  leetle. 
He  hain't  goin'  to  confess  hit  to  save  your  neck ;  'n' 
he  can't  no  way,  fer  he  hev  lit  out  o'  these  mount'ins 
— long  ago." 


168  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

If  Steve  was  out  of  danger,  suspicion  could  not 
harm  him,  and  Rome  said  nothing. 

"  Isom's  got  the  lingerin'  fever  ag'in,  V  he's  out'n 
his  head.  He's  ravin'  'bout  that  fight.  Looks  like 
ye  tol'  him  'bout  it.  He  says,  *  Don't  tell  Uncle 
Gabe ;'  'n'  he  keeps  sayin'  it.  Hit'll  'mos'  kill  him 
ef  you  go  'way ;  but  he  wants  ye  to  git  out  o'  the 
mountains  ;  'n',  Rome,  you've  got  to  go." 

"  Who  was  it,  Uncle  Gabe,  that  seed  me  'n'  Steve 
comin'  'way  from  thar  2" 

"  He  air  the  same  feller  who  hev  been  spyin'  ye 
all  the  time  this  war's  been  goin'  on  ;  hit's  that  dried- 
faced,  snaky  Eli  Crump,  who  ye  knocked  down  'n' 
choked  up  in  Ilazlan  one  day  fer  sayin'  something 
ag'in'  Isom." 

"  I  knowed  it- — I  knowed  it — oh,  ef  I  could  git  my 
fingers  roun'  his  throat  once  more — jes  once  more — 
I'd  be  'mos'  ready  to  die." 

He  stretched  out  his  hands  as  he  strode  back  and 
forth,  with  his  fingers  crooked  like  talons  ;  his  shadow 
leaped  from  wall  to  wall,  and  his  voice,  filling  the 
cave,  was,  for  the  moment,  scarcely  human.  The  old 
man  waited  till  the  paroxysm  was  over  and  Rome 
had  again  sunk  before  the  fire. 

"Hit  'u'd  do  no  good,  Rome,"  he  said,  rising  to 
go.  "  You've  got  enough  on  ye  now,  without  the 
sin  o'  takin'  his  life.  Yon  better  make  up  yer  mind 
to  leave  the  mount'ins  now  right  'way.  You're  a-git- 
tin'  no  more'n  half-human,  livin'  up  hyeh  like  a  cata 
mount.  I  don't  see  how  .ye  kin  stand  it.  Thar's 
no  hope  o'  things  blowin'  over,  boy,  'n'  givin'  ye  a 
chance  o'  comin'  out  ag'in,  as  yer  dad  and  yer  grandad 
usen  to  do  afore  ye.  The  citizens  air  gittin'  tired  o' 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  169 

these  wars.  They  keeps  out  the  furriners  who  makes 
roads  V  buys  lands;  they  air  ag'in'  the  law,  ag'in' 
religion,  ag'in'  yo'  pocket,  'n'  ag'in'  mine.  Lots  o' 
folks  hev  been  ag'in'  all  this  fightin'  fer  a  long  time, 
but  they  was  too  skeery  to  say  so.  They  air  talkin' 
mighty  big  now,  seein'  they  kin  git  soldiers  hyeh  to 
pertect  'em.  So  ye  m ought  as  well  give  up  the  idea 
o'  staying  hyeh,  'less'n  ye  want  to  give  yourself  up 
to  the  law." 

The  two  stepped  from  the  cave,  and  passed  through 
the  rhododendrons  till  they  stood  on  the  cliff  over 
looking  the  valley.  The  rich  light  lay  like  a  golden 
rnist  between  the  mountains,  and  through  it,  far  down, 
the  river  moaned  like  the  wind  of  a  coming  storm. 

"  Did  ye  tell  the  gal  whut  I  to?  ye  ?" 

"  Yes,  Rome  ;  hit  wasn't  no  use.  She  says  Steve's 
word's  as  good  as  yourn  ;  'n'  she  knowed  about  the 
crosses.  Folks  say  she  swore  awful  ag'in'  ye  at 
young  Jas's  burial,  'lowin'  that  she'd  hunt  ye  down 
herse'f,  ef  the  soldiers  didn't  ketch  ye.  I  hain't  seed 
her  sence  she  got  sick ;  'pears  like  ever'body's  sick. 
Mebbe  she's  a  leetle  settled  down  now — no  tellin'. 
No  use  foolin'  with  her,  Rome.  You  git  away  from 
hyeh.  Don't  you  worry  'bout  Isom — I'll  take  keer 
o'  him,  'n'  when  he  gits  well,  he'll  want  to  come  atter 
ye,  'n'  I'll  let  him  go.  He  couldn't  live  hyeh  with 
out  you.  But  y'u  must  git  away,  Rome,  'n'  git  away 
mighty  quick." 

With  hands  clasped  behind  him,  Rome  stood  and 
watched  the  bent  figure  slowly  pick  its  way  around 
the  stony  cliff. 

"  I  reckon  I've  got  to  go.  She's  ag'in'  me  ;  they're 
all  ag'in'  me.  1  reckon  I've  jes  got  to  go.  Some- 


170  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

how,  I've  been  kinder  hopin' — "  He  closed  his  lips 
to  check  the  groan  that  rose  to  them,  and  turned 
again  into  the  gloom  behind  him. 


XIV 

JUNE  came.  The  wild  rose  swayed  above  its  image 
along  every  little  shadowed  stream,  and  the  scent  of 
wild  grapes  was  sweet  in  the  air  and  as  vagrant  as 
a  bluebird's  note  in  autumn.  The  rhododendrons 
burst  into  beauty,  making  gray  ridge  and  gray  cliff 
blossom  with  purple,  hedging  streams  with  snowy 
clusters  and  shining  leaves,  and  lighting  up  dark 
coverts  in  the  woods  as  with  white  stars.  The  leaves 
were  full,  wood-thrushes  sang,  and  bees  droned  like 
unseen  running  water  in  the  woods. 

With  June  came  circuit  court  once  more — and  the 
soldiers.  Faint  music  pierced  the  dreamy  chant  of 
the  river  one  morning  as  Rome  lay  on  a  bowlder  in 
the  summer  sun ;  and  he  watched  the  guns  flashing 
like  another  stream  along  the  water,  and  then  looked 
again  to  the  Lewallen  cabin.  Never,  morning,  noon, 
or  night,  when  he  came  from  the  rhododendrons,  or 
when  they  closed  about  him,  did  he  fail  to  turn  his 
eyes  that  way.  Often  he  would  see  a  bright  speck 
moving  about  the  dim  lines  of  the  cabin,  and  he 
would  scarcely  breathe  while  he  watched  it,  so  easily 
would  it  disappear.  Always  he  had  thought  it  was 
Martha,  and  now  he  knew  it  was,  for  the  old  miller 
had  told  him  more  of  the  girl,  and  had  wrung  his 
heart  with  pity.  She  had  been  ill  a  long  while.  The 
"furriners"  had  seized  old  Jasper's  cabin  and  land. 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  171 

The  girl  was  homeless,  and  she  did  not  know  it,  for 
no  one  had  the  heart  to  tell  her.  She  was  living 
with  the  Braytons ;  and  every  day  she  went  to  the 
cabin,  "  moonin'  V  sorrowin'  aroun',''  as  old  Gabe 
said ;  and  she  was  much  changed. 

Once  more  the  miller  came — for  the  last  time,  he 
said,  firmly.  Crump  had  trailed  him,  and  had  learned 
where  Rome  was.  The  search  would  begin  next  day 
— perhaps  that  very  night — and  Crump  would  guide 
the  soldiers.  Now  he  must  go,  and  go  quickly.  The 
boy,  too,  sent  word  that  unless  Rome  went  he  would 
have  something  to  tell.  Old  Gabe  saw  no  signifi 
cance  in  the  message ;  but  he  had  promised  to  de 
liver  it,  and  he  did.  Rome  wavered  then ;  Steve 
and  himself  gone,  no  suspicion  would  fall  on  the  lad. 
If  he  were  caught,  the  boy  might  confess.  With 
silence  Rome  gave  assent,  and  the  two  parted  in  an 
apathy  that  was  like  heartlessness.  Only  old  Gabe's 
shrunken  breast  heaved  with  something  more  than 
weariness  of  descent,  and  Rome  stood  watching  him 
a  long  time  before  he  turned  back  to  the  cave  that 
had  sheltered  him  from  his  enemies  among  beasts 
and  men.  In  a  moment  he  came  out  for  the  last 
time,  and  turned  the  opposite  way.  Climbing  about 
the  spur,  he  made  for  the  path  that  led  down  to  the 
river.  When  he  reached  it  he  glanced  at  the  sun, 
and  stopped  in  indecision.  Straight  above  him  was 
a  knoll,  massed  with  rhododendrons,  the  flashing 
leaves  of  which  made  it  like  a  great  sea-wave  in  the 
slanting  sun,  while  the  blooms  broke  slowly  down 
over  it  like  foam.  Above  this  was  a  gray  sepulchre 
of  dead,  standing  trees,  more  gaunt  and  spectre-like 
than  ever,  with  the  rich  life  of  summer  about  it. 


172  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

Higher  still  were  a  dark  belt  of  stunted  furs  and 
the  sandstone  ledge,  and  above  these — home.  He 
was  risking  his  liberty,  his  life.  Any  clump  of 
bushes  might  bristle  suddenly  with  Winchesters.  If 
the  soldiers  sought  for  him  at  the  cave  they  would 
at  the  same  time  guard  the  mountain  paths ;  they 
would  guard,  too,  the  Stetson  cabin.  But  no  matter 
— the  sun  was  still  high,  and  he  turned  up  the  steep. 
The  ledge  passed,  he  stopped  with  a  curse  at  his 
lips  and  the  pain  of  a  knife-thrust  at  his  heart.  A 
heap  of  blackened  stones  and  ashes  was  before  him. 
The  wild  mountain-grass  was  growing  up  about  it. 
The  bee-gums  were  overturned  and  rifled.  The  gar 
den  was  a  tangled  mass  of  weeds.  The  graves  in  the 
little  family  burying -ground  were  unprotected,  the 
fence  was  gone,  and  no  boards  marked  the  last  two 
ragged  mounds.  Old  Gabe  had  never  told  him.  He 
too,  like  Martha,  was  homeless,  and  the  old  miller 
had  been  kind  to  him,  as  the  girl's  kinspeople  had 
been  to  her. 

For  a  long  while  he  sat  on  the  remnant  of  the 
burned  and  broken  fence,  and  once  more  the  old  tide 
of  bitterness  rose  within  him  and  ebbed  away.  There 
were  none  left  to  hate,  to  wreak  vengeance  on.  It 
was  hard  to  leave  the  ruins  as  they  were  ;  and  yet  he 
would  rather  leave  weeds  and  ashes  than,  like  Mar 
tha,  have  some  day  to  know  that  his  home  was  in 
the  hands  of  a  stranger.  When  he  thought  of  the 
girl  he  grew  calmer ;  his  own  sorrows  gave  way  to 
the  thought  of  hers ;  and  half  from  habit  he  raised 
his  face  to  look  across  the  river.  Two  eagles  swept 
from  a  dark  ravine  under  the  shelf  of  rock  where  he 
had  fought  young  Jasper,  and  made  for  a  sun-lighted 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  173 

peak  on  the  other  shore.  From  them  his  gaze  fell 
to  Wolf's  Head  and  to  the  cabin  beneath,  and  a  name 
passed  his  lips  in  a  whisper. 

Then  he  took  the  path  to  the  river,  and  he  found 
the  canoe  where  old  Gabe  had  hidden  it.  Before 
the  young  moon  rose  he  pushed  into  the  stream  and 
drifted  with  the  current.  At  the  mouth  of  the  creek 
that  ran  over  old  Gabe's  water-wheel  he  turned  the 
prow  to  the  Le  wall  en  shore. 

"  Not  yit !    Not  yit !"  he  said. 


XV 

THAT  night  Rome  passed  in  the  woods,  with  his 
rifle,  in  a  bed  of  leaves.  Before  daybreak  he  had 
built  a  fire  in  a  deep  ravine  to  cook  his  breakfast, 
and  had  scattered  the  embers  that  the  smoke  should 
give  no  sign.  The  sun  was  high  when  he  crept  cau 
tiously  in  sight  of  the  Lewallen  cabin.  It  was  much 
like  his  own  home  on  the  other  shore,  except  that 
the  house,  closed  and  desolate,  was  standing,  and  the 
bees  were  busy.  At  the  corner  of  the  kitchen  a  rusty 
axe  was  sticking  in  a  half-cut  piece  of  timber,  and  on 
the  porch  was  a  heap  of  kindling  and  fire  wood — the 
last  work  old  Jasper  and  his  son  had  ever  done.  In 
the  Lewallens'  garden,  also,  two  graves  were  fresh ; 
and  the  spirit  of  neglect  and  ruin  overhung  the  place. 

All  the  morning  he  waited  in  the  edge  of  the  lau 
rel,  peering  down  the  path,  watching  the  clouds  race 
with  their  shadows  over  the  mountains,  or  pacing  to 
and  fro  in  his  covert  of  leaves  and  flowers.  He  be 
gan  to  fear  at  last  that  she  was  not  coming,  that  she 


174  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

was  ill,  and  once  he  started  down  the  mountain 
towards  Steve  Brayton's  cabin.  The  swift  descent 
brought  him  to  his  senses,  and  he  stopped  half-way, 
and  climbed  back  again  to  his  hiding-place.  What 
he  was  doing,  what  he  meant  to  do,  he  hardly  knew. 
Mid-day  passed  ;  the  sun  fell  towards  the  mountains, 
and  once  more  came  the  fierce  impulse  to  see  her, 
even  though  he  must  stalk  into  the  Brayton  cabin. 
Again,  half-crazed,  he  started  impetuously  through 
the  brush,  and  shrank  back,  and  stood  quiet.  A 
little  noise  down  the  path  had  reached  his  ear.  In  a 
moment  he  could  hear  slow  foot-falls,  and  the  figure 
of  the  girl  parted  the  pink-and-white  laurel  blos 
soms,  which  fell  in  a  shower  about  her  when  she 
brushed  through  them.  She  passed  quite  near  him, 
walking  slowly,  and  stopped  for  a  moment  to  rest 
against  a  pillar  of  the  porch.  She  was  very  pale ; 
her  face  was  traced  deep  with  suffering,  and  she  was, 
as  old  Gabe  said,  much  changed.  Then  she  went 
on  towards  the  garden,  stepping  with  an  effort  over 
the  low  fence,  and  leaned  as  if  weak  and  tired  against 
the  apple-tree,  the  boughs  of  which  shaded  the  two 
graves  at  her  feet.  For  a  few  moments  she  stood 
there,  listless,  and  Rome  watched  her  with  hungry 
eyes,  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  She  moved  presently, 
and  walked  quite  around  the  graves  without  looking 
at  them  ;  then  came  back  past  him,  and,  seating  her 
self  in  the  porch,  turned  her  face  to  the  river.  The 
sun  lighted  her  hair,  and  in  the  sunken,  upturned 
eyes  Rome  saw  the  shimmer  of  tears. 

"  Marthy  !"  He  couldn't  help  it — the  thick,  low 
cry  broke  like  a  groan  from  his  lips,  and  the  girl 
was  on  her  feet,  facing  him.  She  did  not  know  the 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  175 

voice,  nor  the  shaggy,  half-wild  figure  in  the  shade  of 
the  laurel ;  and  she  started  back  as  if  to  run  ;  but 
seeing  that  the  man  did  not  mean  to  harm  her,  she 
stopped,  looking  for  a  moment  with  wonder  and 
even  with  quick  pity  at  the  hunted  face  with  its 
white  appeal.  Then  a  sudden  spasm  caught  her 
throat,  and  left  her  body  rigid,  her  hands  shut,  and 
her  eyes  dry  and  hard — she  knew  him.  A  slow  pal 
lor  drove  the  flush  of  surprise  from  her  face,  and 
her  lips  moved  once,  but  there  was  not  even  a  whis 
per  from  them.  Rome  raised  one  hand  before  his 
face,  as  though  to  ward  off  something.  "  Don't  look 
at  me  that  way,  Marthy — my  God,  don't !  I  didn't 
kill  him.  I  sw'ar  it !  I  give  him  a  chance  fer  his 
life.  I  know,  I  know — Steve  says  he  didn't.  Thar 
was  only  us  two.  Hit  looks  ag'in'  me ;  but  I  hain't 
killed  one  nur  t'other.  I  let  'em  both  go.  Y'u  don't 
believe  me  ?"  He  went  swiftly  towards  her,  his  gun 
outstretched.  "  Hyeh,  gal  1  I  heerd  ye  swore  ag'in' 
me  out  thar  in  the  gyarden — 'lowin'  that  you  was 
goin'  to  hunt  me  down  yerself  if  the  soldiers  didn't. 
Hyeh's  yer  chance !" 

The  girl  shrank  away  from  him,  too  startled  to 
take  the  weapon ;  and  he  leaned  it  against  her,  and 
stood  away,  with  his  hands  behind  him. 

"  Kill  me  ef  ye  think  I'm  a-lyin'  to  ye,"  he  said. 
"  Y'u  kin  git  even  with  me  now.  But  I  want  to  tell 
ye  fust " — the  girl  had  caught  the  muzzle  of  the  gun 
convulsively,  and  was  bending  over  it,  her  eyes  burn 
ing,  her  face  inscrutable — "  hit  was  a  fa'r  fight  be 
twixt  us,  V  I  whooped  him.  He  got  his  gun  then, 
V  would  'a'  killed  me  ag'in'  his  oath  ef  he  hadn't 
been  shot  fust.  Hit's  so,  too,  'bout  the  crosses.  I 


176  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

made  'em  ;  they're  right  thar  on  that  gun  ;  but  whut 
could  I  do  with  mam  a-standin'  right  thar  with  the 
gun  V  Uncle  Rufe  a-tellin'  'bout  my  own  dad  layin' 
in  his  blood,  'n'  Isom  V  the  boys  lookin'  on  !  Bat 
I  went  ag'in'  my  oath ;  I  give  him  his  life  when  I 
had  the  right  to  take  it.  I  could  'a'  killed  yer  dad 
once,  'n'  I  had  the  right  to  kill  him,  too,  fer  killin' 
mine ;  but  I  let  him  go,  'n'  I  reckon  I  done  that  fer 
ye,  too.  'Pears  like  I  hain't  done  nothin'  sence  I 
seed  ye.  over  thar  in  the  mill  that  day  that  wasn't 
done  fer  ye.  Somehow  ye  put  me  dead  ag'in'  my 
own  kin,  'n'  tuk  away  all  my  hate  ag'in'  yourn.  I 
couldn't  fight  fer  thinkin'  I  was  fightin'  you,  'n' 
when  I  seed  ye  comin'  through  the  bushes  jes  now, 
so  white  'n'  sickly-like,  I  couldn't  hardly  git  breath, 
a-thinkin'  I  was  the  cause  of  all  yer  misery.  That's 
all  I"  He  stretched  out  his  arms.  "  Shoot,  gal,  ef  ye 
don't  believe  me.  I'd  jes  as  lieve  die,  ef  ye  thinks 
I'm  lyin'  to  ye,  'n'  ef  ye  hates  me  fer  whut  I  hain't 
done." 

The  gun  had  fallen  to  the  earth.  The  girl,  trem 
bling  at  the  knees,  sank  to  her  seat  on  the  porch, 
and,  folding  her  arms  against  the  pillar,  pressed  her 
forehead  against  them,  her  face  unseen.  Rome 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  weapon. 

"  I'm  goin'  'way  now,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  after  a 
little  pause,  "  but  I  couldn't  leave  hyeh  without  seein' 
you.  I  wanted  ye  to  know  the  truth,  'n'  I  'lowed 
y'u'd  believe  me  ef  I  tol'  ye  myself.  I've  been  a-wait- 
in'  thar  in  the  lorrel  fer  ye  sence  mornin'.  Uncle 
Gabe  tol'  me  ye  come  hyeh  ever'  day.  He  says  I've 
got  to  go.  I've  been  hopin'  I  mought  come  out  o' 
the  bushes  some  day.  But  Uncle  Gabe  says  ever'- 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA  177 

body's  ag'in'  me  more'n  ever,  V  that  the  soldiers 
mean  to  ketch  me.  The  gov'ner  out  thar  in  the  set 
tlements  says  as  how  he'll  give  five  hundred  dollars 
fer  me,  livin'  or  dead.  He'll  nuver  git  me  livin' — I've 
swore  that — 'n'  as  I  hev  done  nothin'  sech  as  folks 
on  both  sides  hev  done  who  air  walkin'  roun'  free,  I 
hain't  goin'  to  give  up.  Hit's  purty  hard  to  leave 
these  mount'ins.  Reckon  I'll  nuver  see  'em  ag'in. 
Been  livin'  like  a  catamount  over  thar  on  the  Knob. 
I  could  jes  see  you  over  hyeh,  'n'  I  reckon  I  hain't 
done  much  'cept  lay  over  thar  on  a  rock  'n'  watch  ye 
movin'  round.  Hit's  mighty  good  to  feel  that  ye 
believe  me,  'n'  I  want  ye  to  know  that  I  been  stayin' 
over  thar  fer  nothin'  on  earth  but  jes  to  see  you 
ag'in ;  'n'  I  want  ye  to  know  that  I  was  a-sorrowin' 
fer  ye  when  y'u  was  sick,  'n'  a-pinin'  to  see  ye,  'n' 
a-hopin'  some  day  y'u  m ought  kinder  git  over  yer 
hate  fer  me."  He  had  been  talking  with  low  tender 
ness,  half  to  himself,  and  with  his  face  to  the  river, 
and  he  did  not  see  the  girl's  tears  falling  to  the 
porch.  Her  sorrow  gave  way  in  a  great  sob  now,  and 
he  turned  with  sharp  remorse,  and  stood  quite  near  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  Marthy,"  he  said.  "  God  knows  hit's 
hard  to  think  I've  brought  all  this  on  ye  when  I'd 
give  all  these  mount'ins  to  save  ye  from  it.  Whut 
d'  ye  say  ?  Don't  cry." 

The  girl  was  trying  to  speak  at  last,  and  Rome 
bent  over  to  catch  the  words. 

"  I  hain't  cryin'  fer  myself,"  she  said,  faintly,  and 
then  she  said  no  more ;  but  the  first  smile  that  had 
passed  over  Rome's  face  for  many  a  day  passed  then, 
and  he  put  out  one  big  hand,  and  let  it  rest  on  the 
heap  of  lustrous  hair. 
12 


178  A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

"  Marthy,  I  hate  to  go  'way,  leavin'  ye  hyeh  with 
nobody  to  take  kecr  o'  ye.  You're  all  alone  hyeh  in 
the  mount'ins;  I'm  all  alone;  'n'  I  reckon  I'll  be  all 
alone  wharever  I  go,  ef  you  stay  hyeh.  I  got  a  boat 
down  thar  on  the  river,  'n'  I'm  goin'  out  West  whar 
Uncle  Rufe  use  to  live.  I  know  I  hain't  good  fer 
nothin'  much  " — he  spoke  almost  huskily  ;  he  could 
scarcely  get  the  words  to  his  lips — "  but  I  want  ye  to 
go  with  me.  Won't  ye  ?" 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  but  her  sobbing  ceased 
slowly,  while  Rome  stroked  her  hair;  and  at  last  she 
lifted  her  face,  and  for  a  moment  looked  to  the  other 
shore.  Then  she  rose.  There  is  a  strange  pride  in 
the  Kentucky  mountaineer. 

"  As  you  say,  Rome,  thar's  nobody  left  but  you, 
'n'  nobody  but  me;  but  they  burned  you  out,  'n'  we 
hain't  even — yit."  Her  eyes  were  on  Thunderstruck 
Knob,  where  the  last  sunlight  used  to  touch  the  Stet 
son  cabin. 

"  Hyeh,  Rome  !"  He  knew  what  she  meant,  and 
he  kneeled  at  the  pile  of  kindling-wood  near  the 
kitchen  door.  Then  they  stood  back  and  waited. 
The  sun  dipped  below  a  gap  in  the  mountains,  the 
sky  darkened,  and  the  flames  rose  to  the  shingled 
porch,  and  leaped  into  the  gathering  dusk.  On  the 
outer  edge  of  the  quivering  light,  where  it  touched 
the  blossomed  laurel,  the  two  stood  till  the  blaze 
caught  the  eaves  of  the  cabin  ;  and  then  they  turned 
their  faces  where,  burning  to  ashes  in  the  west,  was 
another  fire,  whose  light  blended  in  the  eyes  of  each 
with  a  light  older  and  more  lasting  than  its  own — 
the  light  eternal. 


THE   LAST  STETSON 


THE  LAST  STETSON 


A  MIDSUMMER  freshet  was  running  over  old  Gabe 
Bunch's  water-wheel  into  the  Cumberland.  Inside 
the  mill  Steve  Marcum  lay  in  one  dark  corner  with 
a  slouched  hat  over  his  face.  The  boy  Isom  was 
emptying  a  sack  of  corn  into  the  hopper.  Old  Gabe 
was  speaking  his  mind. 

Always  the  miller  had  been  a  man  of  peace  ;  and 
there  was  one  time  when  he  thought  the  old  Stetson- 
Levvallen  feud  was  done.  That  was  when  Rome 
Stetson,  the  last  but  one  of  his  name,  and  Jasper 
Lewallen,  the  last  but  one  of  his,  put  their  guns 
down  and  fought  with  bare  fists  on  a  high  ledge 
above  old  Gabe's  mill  one  morning  at  daybreak. 
The  man  who  was  beaten  was  to  leave  the  moun 
tains  ;  the  other  was  to  stay  at  home  and  have  peace. 
Steve  Marcum,  a  Stetson,  heard  the  sworn  terms  and 
saw  the  fight.  Jasper  was  fairly  whipped  ;  and  when 
Rome  let  him  up  he  proved  treacherous  and  ran  for 
his  gun.  Rome  ran  too,  but  stumbled  and  fell. 
Jasper  whirled  with  his  Winchester  and  was  about  to 
kill  Rome  where  he  lay,  when  a  bullet  came  from 
somewhere  and  dropped  him  back  to  the  ledge  again. 
Both  Steve  Marcum  and  Rome  Stetson  said  they  had 


182  THE    LAST    STETSON 

not  fired  the  shot ;  neither  would  say  who  had.  Some 
thought  one  man  was  lying,  some  thought  the  other 
was,  and  Jasper's  death  lay  between  the  two.  State 
troops  came  then,  under  the  Governor's  order,  from 
the  Blue  Grass,  and  Rome  had  to  drift  down  the  river 
one  night  in  old  Gabe's  canoe  and  on  out  of  the 
mountains  for  good.  Martha  Lewallen,  who,  though 
Jasper's  sister  and  the  last  of  the  name,  loved  and 
believed  Rome,  went  with  him.  Marcums  and  Bray- 
tons  who  had  taken  sides  in  the  fight  hid  in  the 
bushes  around  Hazlan  or  climbed  over  into  Virginia. 
A  railroad  started  up  the  Cumberland.  "  Furriners  " 
came  in  to  buy  wild  lands  and  get  out  timber.  Civ 
ilization  began  to  press  over  the  mountains  and  down 
on  Hazlan,  as  it  had  pressed  in  on  Breathitt,  the 
seat  of  another  feud,  in  another  county.  In  Breath 
itt  the  feud  was  long  past,  and  with  good  reason  old 
Gabe  thought  that  it  was  done  in  Hazlan. 

But  that  autumn  a  panic  started  over  from  Eng 
land.  It  stopped  the  railroad  far  down  the  Cumber 
land  ;  it  sent  the  "  furriners "  home,  and  drove  civ 
ilization  back.  Marcums  and  Braytons  came  in  from 
hiding,  and  drifted  one  by  one  to  the  old  fighting- 
ground.  In  time  they  took  up  the  old  quarrel,  and, 
with  Steve  Marcum  and  Steve  Brayton  as  leaders, 
the  old  Stetson-Lewallen  feud  went  on,  though  but 
one  soul  was  left  in  the  mountains  of  either  name. 
That  was  Isom,  a  pale  little  fellow  whom  Rome  had 
left  in  old  Gabe's  care ;  and  he,  though  a  Stetson 
and  a  half-brother  to  Rome,  was  not  counted,  be 
cause  he  was  only  a  boy  and  a  foundling,  and  because 
his  ways  were  queer. 

There  was  no  open  rupture,  no  organized  division 


THE    LAST    STETSON  183 

— that  might  happen  no  more.  The  mischief  was 
individual  now,  and  ambushing  was  more  common. 
Certain  men  were  looking  for  each  other,  and  it  was 
a  question  of  "  drawin'  quick  V  shootin'  quick" 
when  the  two  met  by  accident,  or  of  getting  the  ad 
vantage  "  from  the  bresh." 

In  time  Steve  Marcum  had  come  face  to  face  with 
old  Steve  Brayton  in  Hazlan,  and  the  two  Steves,  as 
they  were  known,  drew  promptly.  Marcum  was  in 
the  dust  when  the  smoke  cleared  away ;  and  now, 
after  three  months  in  bed,  he  was  just  out  again.  He 
had  come  down  to  the  mill  to  see  Isom.  This  was 
the  miller's  first  chance  for  remonstrance,  and,  as 
usual,  he  began  to  lay  it  down  that  every  man  who 
had  taken  a  human  life  must  sooner  or  later  pay  for 
it  with  his  own.  It  was  an  old  story  to  Isom,  and, 
with  a  shake  of  impatience,  he  turned  out  the  door 
of  the  mill,  and  left  old  Gabe  droning  on  under  his 
dusty  hat  to  Steve  who,  being  heavy  with  moon 
shine,  dropped  asleep. 

Outside  the  sun  was  warm,  the  flood  was  calling 
from  the  dam,  and  the  boy's  petulance  was  gone  at 
once.  For  a  moment  he  stood  on  the  rude  platform 
watching  the  tide ;  then  he  let  one  bare  foot  into 
the  water,  and,  with  a  shiver  of  delight,  dropped 
from  the  boards.  In  a  moment  his  clothes  were  on 
the  ground  behind  a  laurel  thicket,  and  his  slim 
white  body  was  flashing  like  a  faun  through  the 
reeds  and  bushes  up-stream.  A  hundred  yards  away 
the  creek  made  a  great  loop  about  a  wet  thicket  of 
pine  and  rhododendron,  and  he  turned  across  the 
bushy  neck.  Creeping  through  the  gnarled  bodies 
of  rhododendron,  he  dropped  suddenly  behind  a 


184  THE    LAST    STETSON 

pine,  and  lay  flat  in  the  black  earth.  Ten  yards 
through  the  dusk  before  him  was  the  half-bent  figure 
of  a  man  letting  an  old  army  haversack  slip  from 
one  shoulder ;  and  Isom  watched  him  hide  it  with  a 
rifle  under  a  bush,  and  go  noiselessly  on  towards  the 
road.  It  was  Crump — Eli  Crump,  who  had  been  a 
spy  for  the  Lewallens  in  the  old  feud,  and  who  was 
spying  now  for  old  Steve  Brayton.  It  was  the  sec 
ond  time  Isom  had  seen  him  lurking  about,  and  the 
boy's  impulse  was  to  hurry  back  to  the  mill.  But  it 
was  still  peace,  and  without  his  gun  Crump  was  not 
dangerous ;  so  Isom  rose  and  ran  on,  and,  splashing 
into  the  angry  little  stream,  shot  away  like  a  roll  of 
birch  bark  through  the  tawny  crest  of  a  big  wave. 
He  had  done  the  feat  a  hundred  times ;  he  knew 
every  rock  and  eddy  in  flood-time,  and  he  floated 
through  them  and  slipped  like  an  eel  into  the  mill- 
pond.  Old  Gabe  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Whut  ye  mean,  boy,"  he  said,  sharply,  "  reskin' 
the  fever  an'  ager  this  way  ?  No  wonder  folks  thinks 
ye  air  half  crazy.  Git  inter  them  clothes  now  'n' 
come  in  hyeh.  You'll  ketch  yer  death  o'  cold  swim- 
min'  this  way  atter  a  fresh." 

The  boy  was  shivering  when  he  took  his  seat  at 
the  funnel,  but  he  did  not  mind  that ;  some  day  he 
meant  to  swim  over  that  dam.  Steve  still  lay  mo 
tionless  in  the  corner  near  him,  and  Isom  lifted  the 
slouched  hat  and  began  tickling  his  lips  with  a 
straw.  Steve  was  beyond  the  point  of  tickling,  and 
Isom  dropped  the  hat  back  and  turned  to  tell  the 
miller  what  he  had  seen  in  the  thicket.  The  dim 
interior  darkened  just  then,  and  Crump  stood  in 
the  door.  Old  Gabe  stared  hard  at  him  without  a 


THE    LAST    STETSON  185 

word  of  welcome,  but  Crump  shuffled  to  a  chair  un 
asked,  and  sat  like  a  toad  astride  it,  with  his  knees 
close  up  under  his  arms,  and  his  wizened  face  in  his 
hands.  Meeting  Isom's  angry  glance,  he  shifted  his 
own  uneasily. 

"  Seed  the  new  preacher  comin'  'long  to-day  ?"  he 
asked,  drawing  one  dirty  finger  across  his  forehead. 
"  Got  a  long  scar  'cross  hyeh." 

The  miller  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  he's  a-comin'.  I've  Been  waitin'  fer  him 
up  the  road,  hut  I  reckon  I  got  to  git  'cross  the 
river  purty  soon  now." 

Crump  had  been  living  over  in  Breathitt  since  the 
old  feud.  He  had  been  "convicted"  over  there  by 
Sherd  Raines,  a  preacher  from  the  Jellico  Hills,  and 
he  had  grown  pious.  Indeed,  he  had  been  trailing 
after  Raines  from  place  to  place,  and  he  was  follow 
ing  the  circuit-rider  now  to  the  scene  of  his  own 
deviltry — Hazlan. 

"Reckon  you  folks  don't  know  I  got  the  cirkit- 
rider  to  come  over  hyeh,  do  ye  f  he  went  on.  "Ef 
he  can't  preach  !  Well,  I'd  tell  a  man  !  He  kin  jus' 
draw  the  heart  out'n  a  holler  log  !  He  *  convicted  ' 
me  fust  night,  over  thar  in  Breathitt.  He  come 
up  thar,  ye  know,  to  stop  the  feud,  he  said ;  'n'  thar 
was  laughin'  from  one  eend  o'  Breathitt  to  t'other  ; 
but  thar  was  the  whoppinest  crowd  thar  I  ever  see 
when  he  did  come.  The  meetin'-house  wasn't  big 
enough  to  hold  'em,  so  he  goes  out  on  the  aidge  o' 
town,  'n'  climbs  on  to  a  stump.  He  had  a  woman 
with  him  from  the  settlemints — she's  a-waitin'  at 
Hazlan  fer  him  now — 'n'  she  had  a  cur'us  little  box, 
'n'  he  put  her  'n'  the  box  on  a  big  rock,  'n'  started  in 


186  THE    LAST    STETSON 

a-callin'  'era  his  bretherin'  V  sisteren,  V  folks  seed 
mighty  soon  that  he  meant  it,  too.  He's  always 
mighty  easy-like,  tell  he  gits  to  the  blood-penalty." 

At  the  word  Crump's  listeners  paid  sudden  heed. 
Old  G-abe's  knife  stopped  short  in  the  heart  of  the 
stick  he  was  whittling ;  the  boy  looked  sharply  up 
from  the  running  meal  into  Crump's  face  and  sat  still. 

"  Well,  he  jes  prayed  to  the  Almighty  as  though 
he  was  a-talkin'  to  him  face  to  face,  V  then  the 
woman  put  her  hands  on  that  box,  'n'  the  sweetes' 
sound  anybody  thar  ever  heerd  come  out'n  it.  Then 
she  got  to  singin'.  Hit  wusn't  nuthin'  anybody 
thar'd  ever  heerd ;  but  some  o'  the  women-folks  was 
a  snifflin'  'fore  she  got  through.  He  pitched  right 
into  the  feud,  as  he  calls  hit,  'n'  the  sin  o'  sheddin' 
human  blood,  I  tell  ye  ;  'n'  'twixt  him  'n'  the  soldiers 
I  reckon  thar  won't  be  no  more  fightin'  in  Breathitt. 
He  says,  'n'  he  always  says  it  mighty  loud  " — Crump 
raised  his  own  voice — "  that  the  man  as  kills  his  fel 
ler-critter  hev  some  day  got  to  give  up  his  own  blood, 
sartin  'n'  shore." 

It  was  old  Gabe's  pet  theory,  and  he  was  nodding 
approval.  The  boy's  parted  lips  shook  with  a  spasm 
of  fear,  and  were  as  quickly  shut  tight  with  suspi 
cion.  Steve  raised  his  head  as  though  he  too  had 
heard  the  voice,  and  looked  stupidly  about  him. 

"I  tol'  him,"  Crump  went  on,  "that  things  was 
already  a-gittin'  kind  o'  frolicsome  round  hyeh  ag'in  ; 
that  the  Marcums  'n'  Braytons  was  a-takin'  up  the 
ole  war,  'n'  would  be  a-plunkin'  one  'nother  every 
time  they  got  together,  'n'  a-gittin'  the  whole  coun 
try  in  fear  'n'  tremblin' — now  that  Steve  Marcum 
had  come  back." 


THE    LAST    STETSON  187 

Steve  began  to  scowl,  and  a  vixenish  smile  hovered 
at  Isom's  lips. 

"  He  knows  mighty  well — fer  I  tol'  him — that  thar 
hain't  a  wuss  man  in  all  these  mountains  than  that 
very  Steve — "  The  name  ended  in  a  gasp,  and  the 
wizened  gossip  was  caught  by  the  throat  and  tossed, 
chair  and  all,  into  a  corner  of  the  mill. 

"  None  o'  that,  Steve !"  called  the  miller,  sternly. 
"  Not  hyeh  !  Don't  hurt  him  now  !" 

Crump's  face  stiffened  with  such  terror  that  Steve 
broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  ye  air  a  skeery  critter  !"  he  said,  contempt 
uously.  "  I  hain't  goin'  to  hurt  him,  UncP  Gabe,  but 
he  must  be  a  plumb  idgit,  a-talkin'  'bout  folks  to  thar 
face,  V  him  so  puny  an'  spindlin' !  You  git !" 

Crump  picked  himself  up  trembling — "  Don't  ye 
ever  let  me  see  ye  on  this  side  o'  the  river  ag'in,  now  " 
— and  shuffled  out,  giving  Marcum  one  look  of  fear 
and  unearthly  hate. 

"  Convicted  !"  snorted  Steve.  "  I  heerd  old  Steve 
Brayton  had  hired  him  to  lay  way  me,  'n'  I  sw'ar  I  be 
lieve  hit's  so." 

"  Well,  he  won't  hev  to  give  him  more'n  a  chaw  o' 
tobaccer  now,"  said  Gabe.  "  He'll  come  purty  near 
doin'  hit  hisself,  I  reckon,  ef  he  gits  the  chance." 

"  Well,  he  kin  git  the  chance  ef  I  gits  my  leetle 
account  settled  with  ole  Steve  Brayton  fust.  'Pears 
like  that  old  hog  ain't  satisfied  shootin'  me  hisself." 
Stretching  his  arms  with  a  yawn,  Steve  winked  at 
Isom  and  moved  to  the  door.  The  boy  followed  him 
outside. 

"  We're  goin'  fer  ole  Brayton  about  the  dark  o'  the 
next  moon,  boy,"  he  said.  "  He's  sort  o'  s'picious 


188  THE    LAST    STETSON 

now,  V  we'll  give  him  a  leetle  time  to  git  tame.  I'll 
have  a  bran'  -  new  Winchester  fer  ye,  Isom.  Hit'll 
be  like  ole  times  ag'in,  when  Rome  was  hyeh.  Whut's 
the  matter,  boy  ?"  he  asked,  suddenly.  Isom  looked 
unresponsive,  listless.  "  Air  ye  gittin'  sick  ag'in  ?" 

"  Well,  I  hain't  feelin'  much  peert,  Steve." 

"  Take  keer  o'  yourself,  boy.  Don't  git  sick  now. 
We'll  have  to  watch  Eli  Crump  purty  close.  I  don't 
know  why  I  hain't  killed  that  spyin'  skunk  long  ago, 
'ceptin'  I  never  had  a  shore  an'  sartin  reason  fer 
doin'  it." 

Isom  started  to  speak  then  and  stopped.  He  would 
learn  more  first;  and  he  let  Steve  go  on  home  un 
warned. 

The  two  kept  silence  after  Marcum  was  gone. 
Isom  turned  away  from  old  Gabe,  and  stretched  him 
self  out  on  the  platform.  He  looked  troubled.  The 
miller,  too,  was  worried. 

"  Jus'  a  hole  in  the  groun',"  he  said,  half  to  him 
self  ;  "  that's  whut  we're  all  comin'  to  !  'Pears  like  we 
mought  help  one  'nother  to  keep  out'n  hit,  'stid  o' 
holpin'  'em  in." 

Brown  shadows  were  interlacing  out  in  the  mill- 
pond,  where  old  Gabe's  eyes  were  intent.  A  current 
of  cool  air  had  started  down  the  creek  to  the  river. 
A  katydid  began  to  chant.  Twilight  was  coming, 
and  the  miller  rose. 

"  Hit's  a  comfort  to  know  you  won't  be  mixed  up 
in  all  this  devilment,"  he  said  ;  and  then,  as  though 
he  had  found  more  light  in  the  gloom  :  "  Hit's  a  com 
fort  to  know  the  new  rider  air  shorely  a-preachin'  the 
right  doctrine,  V  I  want  ye  to  go  hear  him.  Blood 
fer  blood — life  fer  a  life  !  Your  grandad  shot  ole 


THE    LAST    STETSON  189 

Tom  Lewallen  in  Hazlan,  Ole  Jack  Lewallen  shot 
him  from  the  bresh.  Tom  Stetson  killed  ole  Jack ; 
ole  Jas  killed  Tom,  'n'  so  hit  comes  down,  fer  back 
as  I  can  ricollect.  I  hev  nuver  knowed  hit  to  fail." 
The  lad  had  risen  on  one  elbow.  His  face  was  pale 
and  uneasy,  and  he  averted  it  when  the  miller  turned 
in  the  door. 

"  You'd  better  stay  hyeh,  son,  'n'  finish  up  the  grist. 
Hit  won't  take  long.  Hev  ye  got  victuals  fer  yer 
supper  ?" 

Isom  nodded,  without  looking  around,  and  when 
old  Gabe  was  gone  he  rose  nervously  and  dropped 
helplessly  back  to  the  floor. 

"  'Pears  like  old  Gabe  knows  I  killed  Jas,"  he 
breathed,  sullenly.  "  'Pears  like  all  of  'em  knows  hit, 
'n'  air  jus'  a-tormentin'  me." 

Nobody  dreamed  that  the  boy  and  his  old  gun  had 
ended  that  fight  on  the  cliff ;  and  without  knowing 
it,  old  Gabe  kept  the  lad  in  constant  torture  with  his 
talk  of  the  blood-penalty.  But  Isom  got  used  to  it 
in  time,  for  he  had  shot  to  save  his  brother's  life. 
Steve  Marcum  treated  him  thereafter  as  an  equal. 
Steve's  friends,  too,  changed  in  manner  towards  him 
because  Steve  had.  And  now,  just  when  he  had  reached 
the  point  of  wondering  whether,  after  all,  there  might 
not  be  one  thing  that  old  Gabe  did  not  know,  Crump 
had  come  along  with  the  miller's  story,  which  he  had 
got  from  still  another,  a  circuit-rider,  who  must  know 
the  truth.  The  fact  gave  him  trouble. 

"  Mebbe  hit's  goin'  to  happen  when  I  goes  with 
Steve  atter  ole  Bray  ton,"  he  mumbled,  and  he  sat 
thinking  the  matter  over,  until  a  rattle  and  a  whir  in 
side  the  mill  told  him  that  the  hopper  was  empty. 


190  THE    LAST    STETSON 

He  arose  to  fill  it,  and,  coming  out  again,  he  beard 
hoof -beats  on  the  dirt  road.  A  stranger  rode  around 
the  rhododendrons  and  shouted  to  him,  asking  the 
distance  to  Hazlan.  He  took  off  his  hat,  when  Isom 
answered,  to  wipe  the  dust  and  perspiration  from 
his  face,  and  the  boy  saw  a  white  scar  across  his 
forehead.  A  little  awe-stricken,  the  lad  walked  tow 
ards  him. 

"Air  you  the  new  rider  whut's  goin'  to  preach  up 
to  Hazlan  ?"  he  asked. 

Raines  smiled  at  the  solemnity  of  the  little  fellow. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  Won't  you  come  up  and 
hear  me  2" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  and  his  lips  parted  as  though 
he  wanted  to  say  something  else,  but  Raines  did  not 
notice. 

"  I  wished  I  had  axed  him,"  he  said,  watching  the 
preacher  ride  away.  "  Uncle  Gabe  knows  might' 
nigh  ever'thing,  V  he  says  so.  Crump  said  the  rider 
said  so ;  but  Crump  might  'a'  been  lyin'.  He  'most 
al'ays  is.  I  wished  I  had  axed  him." 

Mechanically  the  lad  walked  along  the  mill-race, 
which  was  made  of  hewn  boards  and  hollow  logs. 
In  every  crevice  grass  hung  in  thick  bunches  to  the 
ground  or  tipped  wiry  blades  over  the  running  water. 
Tightening  a  prop  where  some  silvery  jet  was  getting 
too  large,  he  lifted  the  tail-gate  a  trifle  and  lay  down 
again  on  the  platform  near  the  old  wheel.  Out  in 
the  mill-pond  the  water  would  break  now  and  then 
into  ripples  about  some  unwary  moth,  and  the  white 
belly  of  a  fish  would  flash  from  the  surface.  It  was 
the  only  sharp  accent  on  the  air.  The  chant  of  the 
katydids  had  become  a  chorus,  and  the  hush  of 


THE    LAST    STETSON  191 

darkness  was  settling  over  the  steady  flow  of  water 
and  the  low  drone  of  the  millstones. 

"  I  hain't  afeerd,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself — "  I 
hain't  afeerd  o'  nothin'  nor  nobody;"  but  he  lay 
brooding  until  his  head  throbbed,  until  darkness 
filled  the  narrow  gorge,  and  the  strip  of  dark  blue 
up  through  the  trees  was  pointed  with  faint  stars. 
He  was  troubled  when  he  rose,  and  climbed  on  Rome's 
horse  and  rode  homeward  —  so  troubled  that  he 
turned  finally,  and  started  back  in  a  gallop  for 
Hazlan. 

It  was  almost  as  Crump  had  said.  There  was  no 
church  in  Hazlan,  and,  as  in  Breathitt,  the  people 
had  to  follow  Raines  outside  the  town,  and  he 
preached  from  the  road-side.  The  rider's  Master 
never  had  a  tabernacle  more  simple :  overhead,  the 
stars  and  a  low  moon  ;  close  about,  the  trees  still  and 
heavy  with  summer ;  a  pine  torch  over  his  head  like 
a  yellow  plume  ;  two  tallow  dips  hung  to  a  beech  on 
one  side,  and  flicking  to  the  other  the  shadows  of 
the  people  who  sat  under  them.  A  few  Marcums  and 
Bray  tons  were  there,  one  faction  shadowed  on  Raines's 
right,  one  on  his  left.  Between  them  the  rider  stood 
straight,  and  prayed  as  though  talking  with  some 
one  among  the  stars.  Behind  him  the  voice  of  the 
woman  at  her  tiny  organ  rose  among  the  leaves.  And 
then  he  spoke  as  he  had  prayed ;  and  from  the  first 
they  listened  like  children,  while  in  their  own  home 
ly  speech  he  went  on  to  tell  them,  just  as  he  would 
have  told  children,  a  story  that  some  of  them  had 
never  heard  before.  "  Forgive  your  enemies  as  He 
had  forgiven  his,"  that  was  his  plea.  Marcums  and 
Braytons  began  to  press  in  from  the  darkness  on 


192  THE    LAST    STETSON 

each  side,  forgetting  each  other  as  the  rest  of  the 
people  forgot  them.  And  when  the  story  was  quite 
done,  Eaines  stood  a  full  minute  without  a  word. 
No  way  was  prepared  for  what  followed.  Abruptly 
his  voice  rose  sternly — "Thou  shalt  not  kill;"  and 
then  Satan  took  shape  under  the  torch.  The  man 
was  transformed,  swaying  half  crouched  before  them. 
The  long  black  hair  fell  across  the  white  scar,  and 
picture  after  picture  leaped  from  his  tongue  with 
such  vividness  that  a  low  wail  started  through  the 
audience,  and  women  sobbed  in  their  bonnets.  It 
was  penalty  for  bloodshed — not  in  this  world ;  pen 
alty  eternal  in  the  next:  and  one  slight  figure  under 
the  dips  staggered  suddenly  aside  into  the  darkness. 

It  was  Isom ;  and  no  soul  possessed  of  devils  was 
ever  more  torn  than  this,  when  he  splashed  through 
Troubled  Fork  and  rode  away  that  night.  Half  a 
mile  on  he  tried  to  keep  his  eyes  on  his  horse's  neck, 
anywhere  except  on  one  high  gray  rock  to  which 
they  were  raised  against  his  will — the  peak  under 
which  he  had  killed  young  Jasper.  There  it  was 
staring  into  the  moon,  but  watching  him  as  he  fled 
through  the  woods,  shuddering  at  shadows,  dodg 
ing  branches  that  caught  at  him  as  he  passed,  and  on 
in  a  run,  until  he  drew  rein  and  slipped  from  his  sad 
dle  at  the  friendly  old  mill.  There  was  no  terror  for 
him  there.  There  every  bush  was  a  friend ;  every 
beech  trunk  a  sentinel  on  guard  for  him  in  shining 
armor. 

It  was  the  old  struggle  that  he  was  starting  through 
that  night — the  old  fight  of  humanity  from  savage  to 
Christian  ;  and  the  lad  fought  it  until,  with  the  birth 
of  his  wavering  soul,  the  premonitions  of  the  first 


SHERD   RAINES,  THE   PREACHER 


THE    LAST    STETSON  193 

dawn  came  on.  The  patches  of  moonlight  shifted, 
paling.  The  beech  columns  mottled  slowly  with  gray 
and  brown.  A  ruddy  streak  was  cleaving  the  east 
like  a  slow  sword  of  fire.  The  chill  air  began  to 
pulse  and  the  mists  to  stir.  Moisture  had  gathered 
on  the  boy's  sleeve.  His  horse  was  stamping  un 
easily,  and  the  lad  rose  stiffly,  his  face  gray  but  calm, 
and  started  home.  At  old  Gabe's  gate  he  turned  in 
his  saddle  to  look  where,  under  the  last  sinking  star, 
was  once  the  home  of  his  old  enemies.  Farther 
down,  under  the  crest,  was  old  Steve  Brayton,  alive, 
and  at  that  moment  perhaps  asleep. 

"  Forgive  your  enemies  ;"  that  was  the  rider's  plea. 
Forgive  old  Steve,  who  Lad  mocked  him,  and  had  driv 
en  Rome  from  the  mountains ;  who  had  threatened  old 
Gabe's  life,  and  had  shot  Steve  Marcum  almost  to 
death  !  The  lad  drew  breath  quickly,  and,  standing 
in  his  stirrups,  stretched  out  his  fist,  and  let  it  drop, 
slowly. 

II 

OLD  Gabe  was  just  starting  out  when  Isom  reached 
the  cabin,  and  the  old  man  thought  the  boy  had  been 
at  the  mill  all  night.  Isorn  slept  through  the  day, 
and  spoke  hardly  a  word  when  the  miller  came  home, 
though  the  latter  had  much  to  say  of  Raines,  the 
two  Steves,  and  of  the  trouble  possible.  He  gave 
some  excuse  for  not  going  with  old  Gabe  the  next 
day,  and  instead  went  into  the  woods  alone. 

Late  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he  reached  the 
mill.  Old  Gabe  sat  smoking  outside  the  door,  and 
Isom  stretched  himself  out  on  the  platform  close  to 

13 


194  THE    LAST    STETSON 

the  water,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  rich  sunlight 
with  one  ragged  sleeve. 

"  UncP  Gabe,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  s'posin'  Steve 
Brayton  was  to  step  out'n  the  bushes  thar  some 
mawnin'  'n'  pull  down  his  Winchester  on  ye,  would 
ye  say,  'Lawd,  fergive  him,  fer  he  don't  know  whut 
he  do '  ?" 

Old  Gabe  had  told  him  once  about  a  Stetson  and  a 
Lewallen  who  were  heard  half  a  mile  away  praying 
while  they  fought  each  other  to  death  with  Winches 
ters.  There  was  no  use  "  prayin'  an'  shootin',''  the 
miller  declared.  There  was  but  one  way  for  them  to 
escape  damnation ;  that  was  to  throw  down  their 
guns  and  make  friends.  But  the  miller  had  forgot 
ten,  and  his  mood  that  morning  was  whimsical. 

"  Well,  I  mought,  Isom,"  he  said,  "  ef  I  didn't 
happen  to  have  a  gun  handy." 

The  humor  was  lost  on  Isom.  His  chin  was  mov 
ing  up  and  down,  and  his  face  was  serious.  That 
was  just  it.  He  could  forgive  Jas — Jas  was  dead  ;  he 
could  forgive  Crump,  if  he  caught  him  in  no  devil 
ment  ;  old  Brayton  even — after  Steve's  revenge  was 
done.  But  now —  The  boy  rose,  shaking  his  head. 

"  UncP  Gabe,"  he  said,  with  sudden  passion,  "  whut 
ye  reckon  Rome's  a-doin'  ?" 

The  miller  looked  a  little  petulant.  "  Don't  ye  git 
tired  axin'  me  that  question,  Isom  ?  Rome's  a-scratch- 
in'  right  peert  fer  a  livin',  I  reckon,  fer  hisself  'n' 
Marthy.  Yes,  'n'  mebbe  fer  a  young  'un  too  by  this 
time.  Ef  ye  air  honin'  fer  Rome,  why  don't  ye  rack 
out  'n'  go  to  him  ?  Lawd  knows  I'd  hate  to  see  ye 
go,  but  I  tol'  Rome  I'd  let  ye  whenever  ye  got  ready, 
'n'  so  I  will." 


THE    LAST    STETSON  195 

Isom  had  no  answer,  and  old  Gabe  was  puzzled. 
It  was  always  this  way.  The  boy  longed  for  Rome, 
the  miller  could  see.  He  spoke  of  him  sometimes 
with  tears,  and  sometimes  he  seemed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  going  to  him,  but  he  shrank  inexplicably 
when  the  time  for  leaving  came. 

Isom  started  into  the  mill  now  without  a  word,  as 
usual.  Old  Gabe  noticed  that  his  feet  were  unsteady, 
and  with  quick  remorse  began  to  question  him. 

"  Kinder  puny,  hain't  ye,  Isom  ?" 

"  Well,  I  hain't  feelin'  much  peert." 

u  Hit  was  mighty  kecrless,"  old  Gabe  said,  with 
kindly  reproach,  "  swimmin'  the  crick  atter  a  fresh." 

"  Hit  wasn't  the  swimmin',"  he  protested,  dropping 
weakly  at  the  threshold.  "  Hit  was  settin'  out  'n  the 
woods.  I  was  in  Hazlan  t'other  night,  Uncl'  Gabe,  to 
hear  the  new  rider." 

The  miller  looked  around  with  quick  interest. 

"  I've  been  skeered  afore  by  riders  a-tellin'  'bout  the 
torments  o'  hell,  but  I  never  heerd  nothin'  like  his 
tellin'  'bout  the  Lord.  He  said  the  Lord  was  jes  as 
pore  as  anybody  thar,  and  lived  jes  as  rough  ;  that 
he  made  fences  and  barns  'n'  ox-yokes  'n'  sech  like, 
an'  he  could'n  write  his  own  name  when  he  started 
out  to  save  the  worP  ;  an'  when  he  come  to  the  p'int 
whar  His  enemies  tuk  hoi'  of  Him,  the  rider  jes 
crossed  his  fingers  up  over  his  head  'n'  axed  us  if  we 
didn't  know  how  it  hurt  to  run  a  splinter  into  a  fel 
ler's  hand  when  he's  loggin',  or  a  thorn  into  yer  foot 
when  ye're  goin'  barefooted. 

"  Hit  jes  made  me  sick,  Uncl'  Gabe,  hearin'  him 
tell  how  they  stretched  Him  out  on  a  cross  o'  wood, 
when  He'd  come  down  fer  nothin'  but  to  save  'em, 


196  THE    LAST    STETSON 

'n'  stuck  a  spear  big  as  a  co'n-knife  into  His  side,  V 
give  Him  vinegar,  'n'  let  Him  hang  thar  'n'  die,  with 
His  own  mammy  a-standin'  down  on  the  groun'  a-cry- 
in'  'n'  watchin'  Him.  Some  folks  thar  never  heerd 
sech  afore.  The  women  was  a-rockin',  'n'  ole  Granny 
Day  axed  right  out  ef  that  tuk  place  a  long  time  ago ; 
'n'  the  rider  said,  'Yes,  a  long  time  ago,  mos'  two 
thousand  years.'  Granny  was  a-cryin',  UncP  Gabe, 
'an'  she  said,  sorter  soft,  '  Stranger,  let's  hope  that  hit 
hain't  so  ;'  'n'  the  rider  says,  '  But  Iftt  air  so  ;  'n'  He 
fergive  'em  while  they  was  doin1  it."1  That's  wliut  got 
me,  Uncl'  Gabe ;  'n'  when  the  woman  got  to  singin', 
somethin'  kinder  broke  loose  hyeh" — Isom  passed  his 
hand  over  his  thin  chest — "  'n'  I  couldn't  git  breath. 
I  was  mos'  afeerd  to  ride  home.  I  jes  layed  at  the 
mill  studyin',  till  I  thought  my  head  would  bust. 
I  reckon  hit  was  the  Sperit  a-workin'  me.  Looks 
like  I  was  mos'  convicted,  Uncl'  Gabe."  His  voice 
trembled,  and  he  stopped.  "  Crump  was  a-lyin' !"  he 
cried,  suddenly.  "  But  hit's  wuss,  Uncl'  Gabe  ;  hit's 
wuss !  You  say  a  life  fer  a  life  in  this  worP ;  the 
rider  says  hit's  in  the  next,  'n'  I'm  mis'ble,  UncP 
Gabe.  Ef  Rome — I  wish  Rome  was  here  !"  he  cried, 
helplessly.  "  I  don't  know  whut  to  do  !" 

The  miller  rose  and  limped  within  the  mill,  and 
ran  one  hand  through  the  shifting  corn.  He  stood 
in  the  doorway,  looking  long  and  perplexedly  tow 
ards  Hazlan ;  he  finally  saw,  he  thought,  just  what 
the  lad's  trouble  was.  He  could  give  him  some  com 
fort,  and  he  got  his  chair  and  dragged  it  out  to  the 
door  across  the  platform,  and  sat  down  in  silence. 

"  Isom,"  he  said  at  last,  "  the  Sperit  air  shorely 
a-workin'  ye,  'n'  I'm  glad  of  it.  But  ye  mus'n't 


THE    LAST    STETSON  197 

worry  about  the  penalty  a-fallin'  on  Rome.  Steve 
Marcum  killed  Jas — he  can't  fool  me — V  I've  told 
Steve  he's  got  that  penalty  to  pay  ef  he  gits  up  this 
trouble.  I'm  glad  the  Sperit's  a-workin'  ye,  but  ye 
mus'n't  worry  5bout  Rome." 

Isom  rose  suddenly  on  one  elbow,  and  with  a  rnoan 
lay  back  and  crossed  his  arms  over  his  face. 

Old  Gabe  turned  and  left  him. 

"  Git  up,  Isom."  It  was  the  miller's  voice  again, 
an  hour  later.  "  You  better  go  home  now.  Ride  the 
hoss,  boy,"  he  added,  kindly. 

Isom  rose,  and  old  Gabe  helped  him  mount,  and 
stood  at  the  door.  The  horse  started,  but  the  boy 
pulled  him  to  a  standstill  again. 

"  I  want  to  ax  ye  jes  one  thing  more,  Uncl'  Gabe," 
he  said,  slowly.  "  S'posin'  Steve  had  a- killed  Jas 
to  keep  him  from  killin'  Rome,  hev  he  got  to  be 
damned  fer  it  jes  the  same  ?  Hev  he  got  to  give  up 
eternal  life  anyways  ?  Hain't  thar  no  way  out'n  it — 
no  way  ?" 

There  was  need  for  close  distinction  now,  and  the 
miller  was  deliberate. 

"Ef  Steve  shot  Jas,"  he  said,  "  jes  to  save  Rome's 
life — he  had  the  right  to  shoot  him.  Thar  hain't  no 
doubt  'bout  that.  The  law  says  so.  But" — there 
was  a  judicial  pause — "  I've  heerd  Steve  say  that  he 
hated  Jas  wuss  'n  anybody  on  earth,  'cept  old  Bray- 
ton  ;  'n'  ef  he  wus  glad  o'  the  chance  o'  killin'  him, 
why — the  Lord  air  merciful,  Isom ;  the  Bible  air  true, 
'n'  hit  says  an  '  eye  fer  an  eye  'n'  a  tooth  fer  a  tooth,' 
'n'  I  never  knowed  hit  to  fail — but  the  Lord  air 
merciful.  Ef  Steve  would  only  jes  repent,  'n'  ef, 


198  THE    LAST    STETSON 

'stid  o'  fightin'  the  Lord  by  takin'  human  life,  he'd 
fight  fer  Him  by  savin'  it,  I  reckon  the  Lord  would 
forgive  him.  Fer  ef  ye  lose  yer  life  fer  Him,  He  do 
say  you'll  find  it  ag'in  somewhar — sometime." 

Old  Gabe  did  not  see  the  sullen  despair  that  came 
into  the  boy's  tense  face.  The  subtlety  of  the  an 
swer  had  taken  the  old  man  back  to  the  days  when 
he  was  magistrate,  and  his  eyes  were  half  closed. 
Isom  rode  away  without  a  word.  From  the  dark  of 
the  mill  old  Gabe  turned  to  look  after  him  again. 

"  I'm  afeerd  he's  a-gittin'  feverish  ag'in.  Hit  looks 
like  he's  convicted;  but" — he  knew  the  wavering 
nature  of  the  boy — "  I  don't  know — I  don't  know." 

Going  home  an  hour  later,  the  old  man  saw  several 
mountaineers  climbing  the  path  towards  Steve  Mar- 
cum's  cabin  ;  it  meant  the  brewing  of  mischief.  And 
when  he  stopped  at  his  own  gate,  he  saw  at  the  bend 
of  the  road  a  figure  creep  from  the  bushes  on  one 
side  into  the  bushes  on  the  other;  It  looked  like 
Crump. 

Ill 

IT  was  Crump,  and  fifty  yards  behind  him  was 
Isom,  slipping  through  the  brush  after  him — Isom's 
evil  spirit  —  old  Gabe>  Raines,  a  conviction,"  blood- 
penalty,  forgotten,  all  lost  in  the  passion  of  a  chase 
which  has  no  parallel  when  the  game  is  man. 

Straight  up  the  ravine  Crump  went  along  a  path 
which  led  to  Steve  Marciim's  cabin.  There  was  a 
clump  of  rhododendron  at  the  head  of  the  ravine,  and 
near  Steve's  cabin.  About  this  hour  Marcum  would 
be  chopping  wood  for  supper,  or  sitting  out  in  his 


THE    LAST    STETSON  199 

porch  in  easy  range  from  the  thicket.  Crump's  plan 
was  plain  :  he  was  about  his  revenge  early,  and  Isom 
was  exultant. 

"Oh  no,  Eli,  you  won't  git  Steve  this  time.  Oh 
naw  !" 

The  bushes  were  soon  so  thick  that  he  could  no 
longer  follow  Crump  by  sight,  and  every  few  yards 
he  had  to  stop  to  listen,  and  then  steal  on  like  a 
mountain- cat  towards  the  leaves  rustling  ahead  of 
him.  Half-way  up  the  ravine  Crump  turned  to  the 
right  and  stopped.  Puzzled,  Isom  pushed  so  close 
that  the  spy,  standing  irresolute  on  the  edge  of  the 
path,  whirled  around.  The  boy  sank  to  his  face,  and 
in  a  moment  footsteps  started  and  grew  faint ;  Crump 
had  darted  across  the  path,  and  was  running  through 
the  undergrowth  up  the  spur.  Isom  rose  and  hurried 
after  him ;  and  when,  panting  hard,  he  reached  the 
top,  the  spy's  skulking  figure  was  sliding  from  Steve's 
house  and  towards  the  Breathitt  road ;  and  with  a 
hot,  puzzled  face,  the  boy  went  down  after  it. 

On  a  little  knob  just  over  a  sudden  turn  in  the 
road  Crump  stopped,  and,  looking  sharply  about  him, 
laid  his  gun  down.  Just  in  front  of  him  were  two 
rocks,  waist-high,  with  a  crevice  between  them.  Draw 
ing  a  long  knife  from  his  pocket,  he  climbed  upon 
them,  and  began  to  cut  carefully  away  the  spreading 
top  of  a  bush  that  grew  on  the  other  side.  Isom 
crawled  down  towards  him  like  a  lizard,  from  tree  to 
tree.  A  moment  later  the  spy  was  filling  up  the 
crevice  with  stones,  and  Isom  knew  what  he  was 
about;  he  was  making  a  "blind "to  waylay  Steve, 
who,  the  boy  knew,  was  going  to  Breathitt  by  that 
road  the  next  Sunday.  How  did  Crump  know  that — 


200  THE    LAST    STETSON 

how  did  he  know  everything?  The  crevice  filled, 
Crump  cut  branches  and  stuck  them  between  the 
rocks.  Then  he  pushed  his  rifle  through  the  twigs, 
and  taking  aim  several  times,  withdrew  it.  When  he 
turned  away  at  last  and  started  down  the  road,  he 
looked  back  once  more,  and  Isom  saw  him  grinning. 
Almost  chuckling  in  answer,  the  lad  slipped  around 
the  knob  to  the  road  the  other  way,  and  Crump  threw 
up  his  gun  with  a  gasp  of  fright  when  a  figure  rose 
out  of  the  dusk  before  him. 

"HoP  on,  Eli!"  said  Isom,  easily.  "Don't  git 
skeered  !  Hit's  nobody  but  me.  Whar  ye  been?" 

Crump  laughed,  so  quick  was  he  disarmed  of  suspi 
cion.  "  Jes  up  the  river  a  piece  to  see  Aunt  Sally 
Day.  She's  a  fust  cousin  o'  mine  by  marriage." 

Isom's  right  hand  was  slipping  back  as  if  to  rest 
on  his  hip.  "  D'  you  say  you'd  been  « convicted,'  Eli  ?" 

Crump's  answer  was  chantlike.  "  Yes,  Lawd, 
•reckon  I  have." 

"  Goin'  to  stop  all  o'  yer  lyin',  air  ye,"  Isom  went 
on,  in  the  same  tone,  and  Crump  twitched  as  though 
struck  suddenly  from  behind,  "an'  stealin'  'n'  lay- 
way 'in1  ?" 

"  Look  a  -  hyeh,  boy — "  he  began,  roughly,  and, 
mumbling  a  threat,  started  on. 

"  Uh,  Eli !"  Even  then  the  easy  voice  fooled  him 
again,  and  he  turned.  Isom  had  a  big  revolver  on 
a  line  with  his  breast.  "Drap  yer  gun  !"  he  said, 
tremulously. 

Crump  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  guilty  face  turned 
gray.  "Take  keer,  boy,"  he  gasped;  "yer  gun's 
cocked.  Take  keer,  I  tell  ye  !" 

"  Drap  it,  damn  ye  I1'  Isom  called,  in  sudden  fury, 


THE    LAST    STETSON  201 

"  V  git  clean  away  from  it!"  Crump  backed,  and 
Isom  came  forward  and  stood  with  one  foot  on  the 
fallen  Winchester. 

"I  seed  ye,  Eli.  Been  maldn'  a  blind  fer  Steve, 
hev  ye  ?  Goin'  to  shoot  him  in  the  back,  too,  air  ye  ? 
You're  kctched  at  last,  Eli.  You've  done  a  heap  o' 
devilment.  You're  gittin'  wuss  all  the  time.  You 
oughter  be  dead,  'n'  now — " 

Crump  found  voice  in  a  cry  of  terror  and  a  whine 
for  mercy.  The  boy  looked  at  him,  unable  to  speak 
his  contempt. 

"Git  down  thar!"  he  said,  finally;  and  Crump, 
knowing  what  was  wanted,  stretched  himself  in  the 
road.  Isom  sat  down  on  a  stone,  the  big  pistol  across 
one  knee. 

"  Roll  over  !"     Crump  rolled  at  full  length. 

"  Git  up  !"  Isom  laughed  wickedly.  "  Ye  don't 
look  purty,  Eli."  He  lifted  the  pistol  and  nipped  a 
cake  of  dirt  from  the  road  between  Crump's  feet. 
With  another  cry  of  fear,  the  spy  began  a  vigorous 
dance. 

"  Hoi'  on,  Eli ;  I  don't  want  ye  to  dance.  Ye  be 
long  to  the  chu'ch  now,  'n'  I  wouldn't  have  ye  go 
ag'in'  yer  religion  fer  nothin'.  Stan'  still !"  Another 
bullet  and  another  cut  between  Crump's  feet.  "  'Pears 
like  ye  don't  think  I  kin  shoot  straight.  Eli,"  he 
went  on,  reloading  the  empty  chambers,  "  some  folks 
thinks  I'm  a  idgit,  'n'  I  know  'em.  Do  you  think  I'm 
aidgit,  Eli?" 

"  Actin'  mighty  nateral  now."  Isom  was  raising 
the  pistol  again.  "  Oh,  Lawdy  !  Don't  shoot,  boy 
— don't  shoot !" 

"  Git  down  on  yer  knees !     Now  I  want  ye  to  beg 


202  THE    LAST    STETSON 

fer  mercy  that  ye  never  showed — that  ye  wouldn't 
V  showed  Steve.  .  .  .  Purty  good,"  he  said,  encour 
agingly. 

"  Mebbe  ye  kin  pray  a  leetle,  seem'  ez  ye  air  a 
chu'ch  member.  Pray  fer  yer  enemies,  Eli ;  Uncl' 
Gabe  says  ye  must  love  yer  enemies.  I  know  how 
ye  loves  me,  V  I  want  ye  to  pray  fer  me.  The 
Lawd  mus'  sot  a  powerful  store  by  a  good  citizen 
like  you.  Ax  him  to  fergive  me  fer  killin'  ye." 

"  Have  mercy,  O  Lawd,"  prayed  Crump,  to  com 
mand — and  the  prayer  was  subtle — "  on  the  mur 
derer  of  this  thy  servant.  A  life  fer  a  life,  thou  hev 
said,  0  Lawd.  Fer  killin'  me  he  will  foller  me,  V 
ef  ye  hev  not  mussy  he  is  boun'  fer  the  lowes'  pit  o' 
hell,  O  Lawd—" 

It  was  Isom's  time  to  wince  now,  and  Crump's 
pious  groan  was  cut  short. 

"  Shet  up  !"  cried  the  boy,  sharply,  and  he  sat  a 
moment  silent.  "  You've  been  a-spyin'  on  us  sence 
I  was  borned,  Eli,"  he  said,  reflectively.  "I  be 
lieve  ye  laywayed  dad.  Y'u  spied  on  Rome.  Y'u 
told  the  soldiers  whar  he  was  a-hidin'.  Y'u  tried  to 
shoot  him  from  the  bresh.  Y'u  found  out  Steve  was 
goin'  to  Breathitt  on  Sunday,  V  you've  jes  made  a 
blind  to  shoot  him  in  the  back.  I  reckon  thar's  no 
meanness  ye  hain't  done.  Dad  al'ays  said  ye  sot  a 
snare  fer  a  woman  once — a  woman  !  Y'u  loaded  a 
musket  with  slugs,  V  tied  a  string  to  the  trigger,  'n' 
stretched  hit  'cross  the  path,  'n'  y'u  got  up  on  a  cliff 
'n'  whistled  to  make  her  slow  up  jes  when  she  struck 
the  string.  I  reckon  that's  yer  wust — but  I  don't 
know." 

Several  times  Crump  raised  his  hands  in  protest 


THE    LAST    STETSON  203 

while  his  arraignment  was  going  on  ;  several  times 
he  tried  to  speak,  but  his  lips  refused  utterance.  The 
boy's  voice  was  getting  thicker  and  thicker,  and  he 
was  nervously  working  the  cock  of  the  big  pistol  up 
and  down. 

"  Git  up  !"  he  said ;  and  Crump  rose  with  a  spring. 
The  lad's  tone  meant  release. 

"  Yon  hain't  wuth  the  risk.  I  hain't  goin'  to  kill 
ye.  I  jus'  wanted  to  banter  ye  V  make  ye  beg. 
You're  a  good  beggar,  Eli,  V  a  powerful  pray-er. 
You'll  be  a  shinin'  light  in  the  chu'ch,  ef  ye  gits  a 
chance  to  shine  long.  Fer  lemme  tell  ye,  nobody 
ever  ketched  ye  afore.  But  you're  ketched  now,  'n' 
I'm  goin'  to  tell  Steve.  He'll  be  a-watchin'  fer  ye, 
'n'  so  '11  I.  I  tell  ye  in  time,  ef  ye  ever  come  over 
hyeh  ag'in  as  long  as  you  live,  you'll  never  git  back 
alive.  Turn  roun' !  Hev  ye  got  any  balls  ?"  he 
asked,  feeling  in  Crump's  pockets  for  cartridges. 
"  No  ;  well  "  —  he  picked  up  the  Winchester  and 
pumped  the  magazine  empty — "I'll  keep  these,"  he 
said,  handing  Crump  the  empty  rifle.  "  Now  git 
away — an'  git  away  quick  !" 

Crump's  slouching  footsteps  went  out  of  hearing, 
and  Isom  sat  where  he  was.  His  elbows  dropped  to 
his  knees.  His  face  dropped  slowly  into  his  hands, 
and  the  nettles  of  remorse  began  to  sting.  He  took 
the  back  of  one  tremulous  hand  presently  to  wipe 
the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  he  found  it 
burning.  A  sharp  pain  shot  through  his  eyes.  He 
knew  what  that  meant,  and,  feeling  dizzy,  he  rose  and 
started  a  little  blindly  towards  home. 

Old  Gabe  was  waiting  for  him.  He  did  not 
answer  the  old  man's  querulous  inquiry,  but  stumbled 


204  THE    LAST    STETSON 

towards  a  bed.  An  hour  later,  when  the  miller  was 
rubbing  his  forehead,  he  opened  his  eyes,  shut  them, 
and  began  to  talk. 

"  I  reckon  I  hain't  much  better  'n  Eli,  Uncl'  Gabe," 
he  said,  plaintively.  "  I've  been  abusin'  him  down 
thar  in  the  woods.  I  come  might'  nigh  killin'  him 
onct."  The  old  man  stroked  on,  scarcely  heeding 
the  boy's  words,  so  much  nonsense  would  he  talk 
when  ill. 

"  I've  been  lyin'  to  ye,  Uncl'  Gabe,  'n'  a-deceivin'  of 
ye  right  along.  Steve's  a-goin'  atter  ole  Brayton — I'm 
goin'  too — Steve  didn't  kill  Jas — hit  wusn't  Steve — 
hit  wusn't  Rome — hit  was — "  The  last  word  stopped 
behind  his  shaking  lips ;  he  rose  suddenly  in  bed, 
looked  wildly  into  the  miller's  startled  face,  and, 
dropping  with  a  sob  to  the  bed,  went  sobbing  to 
sleep. 

Old  Gabe  went  back  to  his  pipe,  and  while  he 
smoked  his  figure  shrank  slowly  in  his  chair.  He 
went  to  bed  finally,  but  sleep  would  not  come,  and 
he  rose  again  and  built  up  the  fire  and  sat  by  it, 
waiting  for  day.  His  own  doctrine,  sternly  taught 
for  many  a  year,  had  come  home  to  him  ;  and  the 
miller's  face  when  he  opened  his  door  was  gray  as 
the  breaking  light. 

IV 

THERE  was  little  peace  for  old  Gabe  that  day  at  the 
mill.  And  when  he  went  home  at  night  he  found 
cause  for  the  thousand  premonitions  that  had  haunted 
him.  The  lad  was  gone. 

A  faint  light  in  the  east  was  heralding  the  moon 


THE    LAST    STETSON  205 

when  Isom  reached  Steve  Marcum's  gate.  There 
were  several  horses  hitched  to  the  fence,  several  dim 
forms  seated  in  the  porch,  and  the  lad  hallooed  for 
Steve,  whose  shadow  shot  instantly  from  the  door 
and  came  towards  him. 

"  Glad  to  see  ye,  Isom,"  he  called,  jubilantly.  "  I 
was  jes  about  to  sen'  fer  ye.  How'd  ye  happen  to 
come  up  ?" 

Isom  answered  in  a  low  voice  with  the  news  of 
Crump's  "blind,"  and  Steve  laughed  and  swore  in 
the  same  breath. 

"  Come  hyeh  !"  he  said,  leading  the  way  back ;  and 
at  the  porch  he  had  Isom  tell  the  story  again. 

"  Whut  'd  I  tell  ye,  boys  ?"  he  asked,  triumphantly. 
"  Don't  believe  ye  more'n  half  believed  me." 

Three  more  horsemen  rode  up  to  the  gate  and  came 
into  the  lio;ht.  Every  man  was  armed,  and  at  Isom's 
puzzled  look,  Steve  caught  the  lad  by  the  arm  and 
led  him  around  the  chimney-corner.  He  was  in  high 
spirits. 

"  Tears  like  ole  times,  Isom.  I'm  a-goin'  fer  that 
cussed  old  Steve  Brayton  this  very  night.  He's 
behind  Crump.  I  s'picioned  it  afore  ;  and  now  I 
know  it  fer  sartain.  He's  a-goin'  to  give  Eli  a 
mule  V  a  Winchester  fer  killin'  me.  AVe're  goin'  to 
s'prise  him  to-night.  He  won't  be  lookin'  fer  us — 
I've  fixed  that.  I  wus  jcs  about  to  sen'  fer  ye.  I 
hain't  fergot  how  ye  kin  handle  a  gun."  Steve 
laughed  significantly.  "  Y'u're  a  good  frien'  o'  mine, 
V  I'm  goin'  to  show  ye  that  I'm  a  frien'  o'  yourn." 

Isom's  paleness  was  unnoticed  in  the  dark.  The 
old  throbbing  began  to  beat  again  at  his  temple ; 
the  old  haze  started  from  his  eyes. 


206  THE    LAST    STETSON 

"  Ilyeh's  ycr  gun,  Isom,"  he  heard  Steve  saying 
next.  The  fire  was  blazing  into  his  face.  At  the 
chimney-corner  was  the  bent  figure  of  old  Daddy 
Marcum,  and  across  his  lap  shone  a  Winchester. 
Steve  was  pointing  at  it,  his  grim  face  radiant ;  the 
old  man's  toothless  mouth  was  grinning,  and  his 
sharp  black  eyes  were  snapping  up  at  him. 

"Hit's  yourn,  I  tell  ye,"  said  Steve  again.  "I 
aimed  jes  to  lend  it  to  ye,  but  ye've  saved  me  frum 
gittin'  killed,  mebbe,  V  hit's  yourn,  now  —  yourn, 
boy,  fer  keeps." 

Steve  was  holding  the  gun  out  to  him  now.  The 
smooth,  cold  touch  of  the  polished  barrel  thrilled 
him.  It  made  everything  for  an  instant  clear  again, 
and  feeling  weak,  Isom  sat  down  on  the  bed,  grip 
ping  the  treasure  in  both  trembling  hands.  On  one 
side  of  him  some  one  was  repeating  Steve's  plan  of 
attack.  Old  Brayton's  cabin  was  nearly  opposite, 
but  they  would  go  up  the  river,  cross  above  the  mill, 
and  ride  back.  The  night  was  cloudy,  but  they  would 
have  the  moonlight  now  and  then  for  the  climb  up 
the  mountain.  They  would  creep  close,  and  when 
the  moon  was  hid  they  would  run  in  and  get  old 
Brayton  alive,  if  possible.  Then — the  rest  was  with 
Steve. 

Across  the  room  he  could  hear  Steve  telling  the 
three  new-comers,  with  an  occasional  curse,  about 
Crump's  blind,  and  how  he  knew  that  old  Brayton 
was  hiring  Crump. 

"  Old  Steve's  meaner  'n  Eli,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  and  a  flame  of  the  old  hate  surged  up  from  the 
fire  of  temptation  in  his  heart.  Steve  Marcum  was 
his  best  friend ;  Steve  had  shielded  him.  The  boy 


OLD   DADDY   MARCUM 


THE    LAST    STETSON  207 

had  promised  to  join  him  against  old  Brayton,  and 
here  was  the  Winchester,  brand-new,  to  bind  his  word. 

"  Git  ready,  boys  ;  git  ready." 

It  was  Steve's  voice,  and  in  Isom's  ears  the  voice 
of  the  preacher  rang  after  it.  Again  that  blinding 
mist  before  his  eyes,  and  the  boy  brushed  at  it  irri 
tably.  He  could  see  the  men  buckling  their  cartridge- 
belts,  but  he  sat  still.  Two  or  three  men  were  going 
out.  Daddy  Marcnm  was  leaning  on  a  chair  at  the 
door,  looking  eagerly  at  each  man  as  he  passed. 

"  Hain't  ye  goin',  Isom  ?" 

Somebody  was  standing  before  him  twirling  a  rifle 
on  its  butt,  a  boy  near  Isom's  age.  The  whirling 
gun  made  him  dizzy. 

"  Stop  it !"  he  cried,  angrily.  Old  Daddy  Marcum 
was  answering  the  boy's  question  from  the  door. 

"  Isom  goin'  ?"  he  piped,  proudly.  "  I  reckon  he 
air.  Whar's  yer  belt,  boy  ?  Git  ready.  Git  ready." 

Isom  rose  then — he  could  not  answer  sitting  down 
— and  caught  at  a  bedpost  with  one  hand,  while  he 
fumbled  at  his  throat  with  the  other. 

"  I  hain't  goin'." 

Steve  heard  at  the  door,  and  whirled  around. 
Daddy  Marcum  was  tottering  across  the  floor,  with 
one  bony  hand  uplifted. 

"  You're  a  coward !"  The  name  stilled  every 
sound.  Isom,  with  eyes  afire,  sprang  at  the  old  man 
to  strike,  but  somebody  caught  his  arm  and  forced 
him  back  to  the  bed. 

"Shot  up,  dad,"  said  Steve,  angrily,  looking 
sharply  into  Isom's  face.  "  Don't  ye  see  the  boy's 
sick  ?  He  needn't  go  ef  he  don't  want  to.  Time  to 
start,  boys." 


208  THE    LAST    STETSON 

The  tramp  of  heavy  boots  started  across  the 
puncheon  floor  and  porch  again.  Isom  could  hear 
Steve's  orders  outside ;  the  laughs  and  jeers  and 
curses  of  the  men  as  they  mounted  their  horses  ;  he 
heard  the  cavalcade  pass  through  the  gate,  the  old 
man's  cackling  good-bye;  then  the  horses'  hoofs 
going  down  the  mountain,  and  Daddy  Marcum's  hob 
bling  step  on  the  porch  again.  He  was  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  full  in  the  firelight,  when  the 
old  man  reached  the  threshold — standing  in  a  trance, 
with  a  cartridge-belt  in  his  hand. 
"  Good  fer  you,  Isom  !" 
The  cry  was  apologetic,  and  stopped  short. 
"The  critter's  fersaken,"  he  quavered,  and,  cowed 
by  the  boy's  strange  look,  the  old  man  shrank  away 
from  him  along  the  wall.  But  Isom  seemed  neither 
to  see  nor  hear.  He  caught  up  his  rifle,  and,  waver 
ing  an  instant,  tossed  it  with  the  belt  on  the  bed  and 
ran  out  the  door.  The  old  man  followed,  dumb  with 
amazement. 

"  Isom  !"  he  called,  getting  his  wits  and  his  tongue 
at  last.  "  Hyeh's  yer  gun  !  Come  back,  I  tell  ye  ! 
You've  fergot  yer  gun  !  Isom  !  Isom  !" 

The  voice  piped  shrilly  out  into  the  darkness,  and 
piped  back  without  answer. 

A  steep  path,  dangerous  even  by  day,  ran  snake- 
like  from  the  cabin  down  to  the  water's  edge.  It 
was  called  Isom's  path  after  that  tragic  night.  No 
mountaineer  went  down  it  thereafter  without  a  firm 
faith  that  only  by  the  direct  help  of  Heaven  could 
the  boy,  in  his  flight  down  through  the  dark,  have 
.  reached  the  river  and  the.  other  side  alive.  The 
path  dropped  from  ledge  to  ledge,  and  ran  the  brink 


THE    LAST    STETSON  209 

of  precipices  and  chasms.  In  a  dozen  places  the  boy 
crashed  through  the  undergrowth  from  one  slippery 
fold  to  the  next  below,  catching  at  roots  and  stones, 
slipping  past  death  a  score  of  times,  and  dropping 
on  till  a  flood  of  yellow  light  lashed  the  gloom  be 
fore  him.  Just  there  the  river  was  most  narrow  ;  the 
nose  of  a  cliff  swerved  the  current  sharply  across, 
and  on  the  other  side  an  eddy  ran  from  it  up-stream. 
These  earthly  helps  he  had,  and  he  needed  them. 

There  had  been  a  rain-storm,  and  the  waves  swept 
him  away  like  thistle-down,  and  beat  back  at  him  as 
he  fought  through  them  and  stood  choked  and  pant 
ing  on  the  other  shore.  He  did  not  dare  stop  to  rest. 
The  Marcums,  too,  had  crossed  the  river  up  at  the 
ford  by  this  time,  and  were  galloping  towards  him ; 
and  Isom  started  on  and  up.  When  he  reached  the 
first  bench  of  the  spur  the  moon  was  swinging  over 
Thunderstruck  Knob.  The  clouds  broke  as  he 
climbed ;  strips  of  radiant  sky  showed  between  the 
rolling  masses,  and  the  mountain  above  was  light  and 
dark  in  quick  succession.  He  had  no  breath  when 
he  reached  the  ledge  that  ran  above  old  Steve's  cabin, 
and  flinging  one  arm  above  it,  he  fell  through  sheer 
exhaustion.  The  cabin  was  dark  as  the  clump  of  firs 
behind  it;  the  inmates  were  unsuspecting;  and  Steve 
Marcum  and  his  men  were  not  far  below.  A  rum 
bling  started  under  him,  while  he  lay  there  and  grew 
faint — the  rumble  of  a  stone  knocked  from  the  path 
by  a  horse's  hoof.  Isom  tried  to  halloo,  but  his  voice 
stopped  in  a  whisper,  and  he  painfully  drew  himself 
upon  the  rock,  upright  under  the  bright  moon.  A 
quick  oath  of  warning  came  then — it  was  Crump's 
shrill  voice  in  the  Braytori  cabin — and  Isom  stumbled 

14 


210  THE    LAST    STETSON 

forward  with  both  hands  thrown  up  and  a  gasping 
cry  at  his  lips.  One  flash  came  through  a  port-hole 
of  the  cabin.  A  yell  broke  on  the  night — Crump's 
cry  again — arid  the  boy  swayed  across  the  rock,  and, 
falling  at  the  brink,  dropped  with  a  limp  struggle  out 
of  sight. 


THE  news  of  Isom's  fate  reached  the  miller  by  way 
of  Hazlan  before  the  next  noon.  Several  men  in  the 
Brayton  cabin  had  recognized  the  boy  in  the  moon 
light.  At  daybreak  they  found  blood-stains  on  the 
ledge  and  on  a  narrow  shelf  a  few  feet  farther  down. 
Isom  had  slipped  from  one  to  the  other,  they  said, 
and  in  his  last  struggle  had  rolled  over  into  Dead 
Creek,  and  had  been  swept  into  the  Cumberland. 

It  was  Crump  who  had  warned  the  Braytons.  No 
body  ever  knew  how  he  had  learned  Steve  Marcum's 
purpose.  And  old  Brayton  on  his  guard  and  in  his 
own  cabin  was  inpregnable.  So  the  Marcums,  after 
a  harmless  fusillade,  had  turned  back  cursing.  Mock 
ing  shouts  followed  after  them,  pistol-shots,  even  the 
scraping  of  a  fiddle  and  shuffling  on  the  ledge.  But 
they  kept  on,  cursing,  across  the  river  and  back  to 
Daddy  Marcum,  who  was  standing  in  the  porch,  peer 
ing  for  them  through  the  dawn,  with  a  story  to  tell 
about  Isom. 

"  The  critter  was  teched  in  the  head,"  the  old  man 
said,  and  this  was  what  the  Braytons,  too,  believed. 
Bat  Steve  Marcum,  going  to  search  for  Isom's  body 
next  day,  gave  old  Gabe  another  theory.  He  told 
the  miller  how  Daddy  Marcum  had  called  Isom  a 


THE    LAST    STETSON  211 

coward,  and  Steve  said  the  boy  had  gone  ahead  to 
prove  he  was  no  coward. 

"  He  had  mighty  leetle  call  to  prove  it  to  me. 
Think  o'  his  takin'  ole  Brayton  all  by  hisself  !"  he 
said,  with  a  look  at  the  yellow,  heaving  Cumberland. 
"  'N',  Lord  !  think  o'  his  swimmin'  that  river  in  the 
dark !" 

Old  Gabe  asked  a  question  fiercely  then  and  de 
manded  the  truth,  and  Steve  told  him  about  the  hand- 
to-hand  fight  on  the  mountain -side,  about  young 
Jasper's  treachery,  and  how  the  boy,  who  was  watch 
ing  the  fight,  fired  just  in  time  to  save  Rome.  It 
made  all  plain  at  last — Rome's  and  Steve's  denials, 
Isom's  dinning  on  that  one  theme,  and  why  the  boy 
could  not  go  to  Rome  and  face  Martha,  with  her  own 
blood  on  his  hands.  Isom's  true  motive,  too,  was 
plain,  and  the  miller  told  it  brokenly  to  Steve,  who 
rode  away  with  a  low  whistle  to  tell  it  broadcast,  and 
left  the  old  man  rocking  his  body  like  a  woman. 

An  hour  later  he  rode  back  at  a  gallop  to  tell  old 
Gabe  to  search  the  river-bank  below  the  mill.  He 
did  not  believe  Isom  dead.  It  was  just  his  "  feelin'," 
he  said,  and  one  fact,  that  nobody  else  thought  im 
portant — the  Brayton  canoe  was  gone. 

"  Ef  he  was  jes  scamped  by  a  ball,"  said  Steve, 
"  you  kin  bet  he  tuk  the  boat,  V  he's  down  thar  in 
the  bushes  somewhar  now  waitin'  fer  dark." 

And  about  dusk,  sure  enough,  old  Gabe,  wandering 
hopefully  through  the  thicket  below  the  mill,  stum 
bled  over  the  canoe  stranded  in  the  bushes.  In  the 
new  mud  were  the  tracks  of  a  boy's  bare  feet  leading 
into  the  thicket,  and  the  miller  made  straight  for 
home.  When  he  opened  his  door  he  began  to  shake 


212  THE    LAST    STETSON 

as  if  with  palsy.  A  figure  was  seated  on  the  hearth 
against  the  chimney,  and  the  fire-light  was  playing 
over  the  face  and  hair.  The  lips  were  parted,  and 
the  head  hung  limply  to  the  breast.  The  clothes  were 
torn  to  rags,  and  one  shoulder  was  bare.  Through 
the  upper  flesh  of  it  and  close  to  the  neck  was  an 
ugly  burrow  clotted  with  blood.  The  boy  was  asleep. 

Three  nights  later,  in  Hazlan,  Sherd  Raines  told  the 
people  of  Isom's  flight  down  the  mountain,  across 
the  river,  and  up  the  steep  to  save  his  life  by  losing 
it.  Before  he  was  done,  one  gray -headed  figure 
pressed  from  the  darkness  on  one  side  and  stood 
trembling  under  the  dips.  It  was  old  Steve  Brayton, 
who  had  fired  from  the  cabin  at  Isom,  and,  dropping 
his  Winchester,  he  stumbled  forward  with  the  butt 
of  his  pistol  held  out  to  Raines.  A  Marcum  appeared 
on  the  other  side  with  the  muzzle  of  his  Winchester 
down.  Raines  raised  both  hands  then,  and  imperi 
ously  called  on  every  man  who  had  a  weapon  to 
come  forward  and  give  it  up.  Like  children  they 
came,  Marcums  and  Braytons,  piling  their  arms  on 
the  rock  before  him,  shaking  hands  right  and  left, 
and  sitting  together  on  the  mourners'  bench. 

Old  Brayton  was  humbled  thereafter.  He  wanted 
to  shake  hands  with  Steve  Marcum  and  make  friends. 
But  Steve  grinned,  and  said,  "  Not  yit,"  and  went  off 
into  the  bushes.  A  few  days  later  he  went  to  Haz 
lan  of  his  own  accord  and  gave  up  his  gun  to  Raines. 
He  wouldn't  shake  hands  with  old  Brayton,  he  said, 
nor  with  any  other  man  who  would  hire  another  man 
to  do  his  "  killin' ;"  but  he  promised  to  fight  no  more, 
and  he  kept  his  word. 


THE    LAST    STETSON  213 

A  flood  followed  on  New- Year's  day.  Old  Gabe's 
canoe — his  second  canoe — was  gone,  and  a  Marcum 
and  a  Brayton  worked  side  by  side  at  the  mill  hol 
lowing  out  another.  The  miller  sat  at  the  door 
whittling. 

"  'Pears  like  folks  is  havin'  bad  luck  with  thar  dug 
outs,"  said  the  Brayton.  "  Some  triflin',cuss  took 
old  Steve  Brayton's  jes  to  cross  the  river,  without 
the  grace  to  tie  it  to  the  bank,  let  'lone  takin'  it  back. 
I've  heard  ez  how  Aunt  Sally  Day's  boy  Ben,  who 
was  a-fishin'  that  evenin',  says  ez  how  he  seed  Isom's 
harnt  a-floatin'  across  the  river  in  it,  without  techin' 
a  paddle." 

The  Marcum  laughed.  "  Idgits  is  thick  over  hyeh," 
he  said.  "  Ben's  a-gittin'  wuss  sence  Isom  was  killed. 
Yes,  I  ricollect  Gabe  hyeh  lost  a  canoe  jes  atter  a 
flood  more'n  a  year  ago,  when  Rome  Stetson  V 
Marthy  Lewallen  went  a-gallivantin'  out'n  the  moun 
tains  together.  Hyeh's  another  flood,  V  old  Gabe's 
dugout  gone  ag'in."  The  miller  raised  a  covert 
glance  of  suspicion  from  under  his  hat,  but  the 
Marcum  was  laughing.  "  Ye  oughter  put  a  trace- 
chain  on  this  'un,"  he  added.  "  A  rope  gits  rot 
ten  in  the  water,  V  a  tide  is  mighty  apt  to  break 
it." 

Old  Gabe  said  that  "  mebbe  that  wus  so,"  but  he 
had  no  chain  to  waste ;  he  reckoned  a  rope  was 
strong  enough,  and  he  started  home. 

"  Old  Gabe  don't  seem  to  keer  much  now  'bout 
Isom,"  said  the  Brayton.  "  Folks  say  he  tuk  on  so 
awful  at  fust  that  hit  looked  like  he  wus  goin'  crazy. 
He's  gittin'  down  right  peert  ag'in.  Hello  !" 

Bud  Vickers  was  carrying  a  piece  of  news  down 


214  THE    LAST    STETSON 

to  Hazlan,  and  he  pulled  up  his  horse  to  deliver  it. 
Aunt  Sally  Day's  dog  had  been  seen  playing  in  the 
Breathitt  road  with  the  frame  of  a  human  foot. 
Some  boys  had  found  not  far  away,  behind  a  withered 
"  blind,"  a  heap  of  rags  and  bones.  Eli  Crump  had 
not  been  seen  in  Hazlan  since  the  night  of  the  Bray- 
ton  raid. 

"  Well,  ef  hit  was  Eli,"  said  the  Brayton,  waggishly, 
"  we're  all  goin'  to  be  saved.  Eli's  case  '11  come  fust, 
an'  ef  thar's  only  one  Jedgrnent-day,  the  Lord  lll 
nuver  git  to  us." 

The  three  chuckled,  while  old  Gabe  sat  dreaming 
at  his  gate.  The  boy  had  lain  quiet  during  the 
weeks  of  his  getting  well,  absorbed  in  one  aim — to 
keep  hidden  until  he  was  strong  enough  to  get  to 
Rome.  On  the  last  night  the  miller  had  raised  one 
of  the  old  hearth-stones  and  had  given  him  the  hire 
of  many  years.  At  daybreak  the  lad  drifted  away. 
Now  old  Gabe  was  following  him  down  the  river  and 
on  to  the  dim  mountain  line,  where  the  boy's  figure 
was  plain  for  a  moment  against  the  sky,  and  then 
was  lost. 

The  clouds  in  the  west  had  turned  gray,  and  the 
crescent  had  broken  the  gloom  of  the  woods  into 
shadows  when  the  miller  rose.  One  star  was  com 
ing  over  Black  Mountain  from  the  east.  It  was 
the  Star  of  Bethlehem  to  old  Gabe ;  and,  star-like 
on  both  sides  of  the  Cumberland,  answering  fires 
from  cabin  hearths  were  giving  back  its  message  at 
last. 

"  Thar  hain't  nothin'  to  hender  Rome  V  Marthy 
now.  I  nuver  knowed  anybody  to  stay  'way  from 
these  mount'ins  ef  he  could  git  back ;  V  Isom  said 


THE    LAST    STETSON  215 

Thar   hain't  nothin'  to  hender — 
nothin'now." 

On  the  stoop  of  the  cabin  the  miller  turned  to 
look  again,  and  then  on  the  last  Stetson  the  door  was 
closed. 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN    CREEK 


ON   HELL -FER-S ART AIN   CREEK 

THAR  was  a  dancin'-  party  Christmas  night  on 
"  Hell  fer  Sartain."  Jes  tu'n  up  the  fust  crick  be 
yond  the  bend,  V  climb  onto  a  stump,  V  holler  about 
once,  'n'  you'll  see  how  the  name  come.  Stranger, 
hit's  hell  fer  sartain  !  Well,  Rich  Harp  was  thar  from 
the  head-waters,  'n'  Harve  Hall  toted  Nance  Osborn 
clean  across  the  Cumberlan'.  Fust  one  'ud  swing 
Nance,  'n'  then  t'other.  Then  they'd  take  a  pull  out'n 
the  same  bottle  o'  moonshine,  'n' — fust  one  'n'  then 
t'other  —  they'd  swing  her  ag'in.  'N'  Abe  Shivers 
a-settin'  thar  by  the  fire  a-bitin'  his  thumbs  ! 

Well,  things  was  sorter  whoopin',  when  somebody 
ups  'n'  tells  Harve  that  Rich  had  said  sump'n'  ag'in 
Nance  'n'  him  ;  'n'  somebody  ups  'n'  tells  Rich  that 
Harve  had  said  sump'n  ag'in'  Nance  'n'  him.  In  a 
minit,  stranger,  hit  was  like  two  wild-cats  in  thar. 
Folks  got  'em  parted,  though,  but  thar  was  no  more  a- 
swingin'  uv  Nance  that  night.  Harve  toted  her  back 
over  the  river,  'n'  Rich's  kinsfolks  tuk  him  up  "  Hell 
fer  Sartain  "  ;  but  Rich  got  loose,  'n'  lit  out  lickety- 
split  fer  Nance  Osborn's.  He  knowed  Harve  lived  too 
fer  over  Black  Mountain  to  go  home  that  night,  'n'  he 
rid  right  across  the  river  'n'  up  to  Nance's  house,  'n' 
hollered  fer  Harve.  Harve  poked  his  head  out'n  the 
loft — he  knowed  whut  was  wanted — 'n'  Harve  says, 


220  ON    HELL-FER-SARTAIN    CREEK 

"  Uh,  Rich,  come  in  hyeh  V  go  to  bed.  Hit's  too 
late  !"  'N'  Rich  seed  him  a-gapin'  like  a  chicken,  V 
in  he  walked,  stumblin'  might'  nigh  ag'in'  the  bed 
whar  Nance  \vas  a-layin',  listenin'  'n'  not  sayin'  a 
word. 

Stranger,  them  too  fellers  slept  together  plum 
frien'ly,  'n'  they  et  together  plum  frien'ly  next  morn- 
in',  'n'  they  sa'ntered  down  to  the  grocery — plum 
frien'ly.  'N'  Rich  says,  "  Harve,"  says  he,  "  let's 
hev  a  drink."  "  All  right,  Rich,"  says  Harve.  'N' 
Rich  says,  "  Harve,"  says  he,  "  you  go  out'n  that 
door  'n'  I'll  go  out'n  this  door."  * "  All  right,  Rich," 
says  Harve.  'N'  out  they  walked,  stiddy,  'n'  thar  was 
two  shoots  shot,  'n'  Rich  'n'  Harve  both  drapped,  'n' 
in  ten  minits  they  was  stretched  out  on  Nance's  bed, 
'n'  Nance  was  a-lopin'  away  fer  the  yarb  doctor. 

The  gal  missed  'em  both  plum  faithful.  Rich  didn't 
hev  much  to  say,  'n'  Harve  didn't  hev  much  to  say. 
Nance  was  sorter  quiet,  'n'  Nance's  mammy,  ole 
Nance,  jes  grinned.  Folks  come  in  to  ax  atter  'em 
right  peert.  Abe  Shivers  come  cl'ar  'cross  the  river 
— powerful  frien'ly — 'n'  ever'  time  Nance  'ud  walk 
out  to  the  fence  with  him.  One  time  she  didn't  come 
back,  'n'  ole  Nance  fotched  the  boys  thar  dinner,  'n' 
ole  Nance  fotched  thar  supper,  'n'  then  Rich  he  axed 
whut  was  the  matter  with  young  Nance ;  'n'  ole  Nance 
jes  snorted.  Atter  a  while  Rich  says,  "  Harve,"  says 
he,  "  who  tol'  you  that  I  said  that  word  ag'in'  you  'n' 
Nance?"  "Abe  Shivers,"  says  Harve.  " 'N'  who 
toP  you  that  I  said  that  word  ag'in'  you  'n'  Nance  ?" 
"Abe  Shivers,"  says  Rich.  'N'  both  says,  "Well, 
damn  me !"  'N'  Rich  tu'ned  right  over  'n'  begun 
pullin'  straws  out'n  the  bed.  He  got  two  out,  'n'  he 


ON    HELL-FER-SARTAIN    CREEK  221 

bit  one  off,  V  he  says,  "  Harve,"  says  he,  "  we'll 
draw  fer  him.  The  shortes'  gits  him."  'N'  they 
drawed.  "Well,  nobody  ever  knowed  which  got  the 
shortes'  straw,  stranger,  but — 

Thar'll  be  a  dancin'-party  comin'  Christmas  night 
on  "Hell  fer  Sartain."  Rich  Harp  '11  be  thar  from 
the  head-waters.  Harve  Hall's  a-goin'  to  tote  the 
Widder  Shivers  clean  across  the  Curnberlan' — jes  the 
same.  Fust  one  '11  swing  Nance,  V  then  t'other. 
Then  they'll  take  a  pull  out'n  the  same  bottle  o' 
moonshine,  V  —  fust  one  V  then  tother  —  they'll 
swing  her  ag'in — jes  the  same.  Abe  won't  be  thar. 
He's  a-settin'  by  a  bigger  fire,  I  reckon  (ef  he  ain't 
in  it),  a-bitin'  his  thumbs ! 


THE    END 


BY  CHAKLES   DUDLEY  WAKNEK 


THE  GOLDEN  HOUSE.     Illustrated  by  W.  T.  SMED- 
LEY.     Post  8vo,  Ornamental  Half  Leather,  Un 
cut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  00. 
It  is  a  strong,  individual,  and  very  serious  consideration 
of  life ;  much  more  serious,  much  deeper  in  thought,  than  the 
New  York  novel  is  wont  to  be.     It  is  worthy  of  companion 
ship  with  its  predecessor,  "  A  Little  Journey  in  the  World," 
and  keeps  Mr.  Warner  well  in  the  front  rank  of  philosophic 
students  of  the  tendencies  of  our  civilization. — Springfield  Re 
publican. 

A   LITTLE    JOURNEY    IN   THE    WORLD.     A  Novel. 

Post  8vo,  Half  Leather,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt 

Top,  $1   50;  Paper,  75  cents. 
THEIR   PILGRIMAGE.      Illustrated  by  0.  S.  REIN- 

HART.      Post  8vo,  Half  Leather,  Uncut  Edges 

and  Gilt  Top,  $2  00. 

STUDIES  IN  THE  SOUTH  AND  WEST,  with  Comments 
on  Canada.  Post  8vo,  Half  Leather,  Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $1  75. 

OUR  ITALY.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental, 
Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  50. 

As  W^E  Go.  With  Portrait  and  Illustrations. 
16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00.  ("  Harper's 
American  Essayists.") 

As  WE  WERE  SAYING.  With  Portrait  and  Il 
lustrations.  16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00. 
("  Harper's  American  Essayists.") 

THE  W^ORK  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  With  Por 
traits.  32rno,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  50  cents. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

above  ivorks  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be 


sent  bi/  the  publishers  btj  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  THOMAS   HAKDY 


TESS   OF  THE  D'URBERVILLES.      A  Pure  Woman, 

Faithfully  Presented.      Illustrated.      Post  8vo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1   50. 

A  more  tragic  or  powerfully  moving  story  than  that  of 
Tess  lives  not  m  fiction.  ...  It  is  certainly  a  masterpiece. — 
N.  Y.  Tribune. 

One  of  the  few  great  novels  of  the  century. — N.  Y.  Mail 
and  Express. 

A  tragic  masterpiece.  .  .  .  This  story  brands  itself  upon 
the  mind  as  with  the  touch  of  incandescent  iron. — Academy, 
London. 

LIFE'S    LITTLE    IRONIES.      A   Set   of  Tales ;    with 
some     Colloquial     Sketches    entitled     A     Few 
Crusted    Characters.     Post    8vo,    Cloth,   Orna 
mental,  $1   25. 
Narrated  with  that  subtle  comprehension  of  character  that 

is  one  of  Mr.  Hardy's  most  obvious  qualities  as  a  novelist. — 

Literary  World,  Boston. 

A  GROUP  OF  NOBLE  DAMES.     Illustrated.     12mo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  $125;  Post  8vo,  Paper,  75 

cents. 

Delightful  reading,  and  are  in  their  author's  best  and 
finest  vein. — Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

Everything  in  this  volume  is  fresh  and  characteristic.  .  .  . 
Each  shows  in  its  narration  the  concealed  art  of  the  born 
story-teller. — Athenceum,  London. 

THE  WOODLANDERS.      16mo,  Cloth,  75  cents. 
WESSEX  TALES.     8vo,  Paper,  30  cents. 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.     32mo,  Paper,  20  cents. 
A  LAODICEAN.     Illustrated.     4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER   &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

&fThe  above  works  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be 
ftent  bit  the  publishers  by  mail,  postage,  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


YB  67291 


M522978 


